


Over Your Dead Body

by midnight5776



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Alternative Universe - FBI, Blood and Gore, Dark, Dark Hermione Granger, Death, F/M, Graphic Description, Minor Character Death, Murder, Pseudo-Incest, Smut, Step-Sibling Incest, Step-siblings, Thriller, Tom Riddle is His Own Warning, Unhealthy Relationships, Unsafe Sex, Violence, please don’t take me writing this as any form of condoning these things, serial killer tendencies, tomione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:15:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 21
Words: 69,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23554399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnight5776/pseuds/midnight5776
Summary: All Hermione wants to do is what’s best for her Tom. He’s her best friend, her protector, her stepbrother. Since the day he moved in, Tom’s looked after her. Now, as Tom’s urge to kill has become too strong to overcome, Hermione is going to do everything in her power to keep him from ever getting caught.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle
Comments: 330
Kudos: 752





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So, obviously, I don't own Harry Potter or anything, but someone needs to take it from JKR and soon before she tries some more shit. Thanks to my alpha/beta, Zee!
> 
> This is going to be a multichap Tomione. It's going to be dark, gory, and horrific, so if you don't like any of this, please leave. There's incest, it's in the tags, and I'm telling you now, so everyone knows. If we're all good with that, here we go! Thank you for taking the time to read this! I hope you like it!!

Hermione had never seen anything die before. She had seen the fish her mother brought home from the market, but she had never watched any living thing die. She’d stared into their beady, black eyes and seen nothing as her stepdad set to work taking them apart. Those lifeless eyes had given her nightmares for weeks the first time Hermione had stared at them. At seven-years-old, she had never considered how they got to that lifeless state; Hermione just knew they were dead. There hadn’t been a time where she needed to think about how she would respond to something dying yet. Does one cry as they watch life leave a being’s eyes? Do you cry out for help? What if the person doing the killing is someone you love?

Until that morning, Hermione had had the privilege of never having to question any of that. She was spending her warm summer morning playing in the yard behind her family’s house, tucked away in her mother’s flowerbeds. It wasn’t particularly allowed, but Hermione knew that if her mom was busy watching the television with Tom Sr., she could get away with picking some flowers.

It was then, with her hands full of pansies, Hermione heard the screech and hiss of a cat. Hermione set her flowers down in a neat pile and followed the noise. She pushed her way through the thick hedges that separated their yard from their neighbor’s. With the meowing and hissing continuing, her curiosity piqued.

Their neighbor was Mrs. Johnson, who was nice enough. She gave out decent candy at Halloween and always had neat little mints in her pockets that she’d give to Hermione. Sometimes one of her cats got in a fight with a neighborhood stray and Hermione would stop it by shouting at them. 

Not wanting to invade Mrs. Johnson’s privacy too much, Hermione stopped before the edge of the hedge and looked through it into the yard. The scene she witnessed made her entire body freeze. 

In the back of Mrs. Johnson’s yard was Tom Jr., Hermione’s stepbrother. He was back behind her tool shed, hidden from the yard’s owner, but perfectly in Hermione’s line of sight. In his hands was the source of the noise: one of Mrs. Johnson’s cats. The animal was thrashing around, trying to get out of Tom’s unkind grip. He had one hand around the cat’s neck and the other gripping the top of the cat’s head. Hermione had arrived just in time to witness her brother harshly twist the cat’s head the wrong way, causing it to go limp. 

The  _ crack _ accompanying the act made her feel nauseous. Bile filled Hermione’s mouth and she swallowed it back down begrudgingly. Her eyes teared up as ice raced through her veins. She couldn’t believe her eyes. 

Hermione took a step farther back into the hedge to put as much distance between her and the dead cat as possible. Her heel landed on a twig and it cracked under her. Tom’s head snapped up and his eyes locked with her’s through the hedge. Hermione turned and ran back through the bushes and into their home, trampling on her pile of pansies as she went.

\--

Hermione stayed in her room the rest of that summer day. Tom didn’t stop by to check on her, to give her some sort of explanation. She didn’t see him once, didn’t even hear him in the hall. The sun was setting when her bedroom door opened, but it wasn’t Tom. Her mom peeked her head in.

“Honey?” her mother called as she opened the door gradually. “Can I come in?”

With a nod and a sniffle, Hermione granted her mom permission. She found Hermione sitting on her bed, her quilt draped over her shoulders tightly. 

“What’s wrong, Hermione? We haven’t seen you around the house all day.” Her mom sat on the edge of the bed and assessed her with a puzzled expression. “Did you and Tom have a fight? He’s been out in the yard all day as well. He won’t come in.”

At the mention of Tom, Hermione felt her blood run cold yet again. Her brother--her best friend--had hurt that cat! She knew she was supposed to tell her mom, but her stomach did a flip when she thought about it.

“Mom?” Hermione asked quietly. She tried on the tone Tom used when he got away with everything. “Why do people do bad things?”

Her mom blinked, taken aback by her 7-year-old asking such a question. “Everyone does bad things sometimes,” her mom explained gently. “Everyone makes bad choices. As to why they do them, it varies by the person.”

Hermione nodded. She stared at her hands for a long moment, processing what she had been told. “So good people can do bad things?” she asked curiously. “Have you ever done anything bad?”

Her mom rolled with the punches and nodded. “I have done bad things before. I’ve cut in line before and I’ve taken more than my fair share of cookies. We all make mistakes, honey. It’s who we are as people that matters more.” She leaned forward and patted Hermione’s head lovingly. “I’m sure what Tom did can be forgiven. What’s got you so worked up, duckling?”

“I didn’t know good people could do bad things,” was all Hermione said in response to her mom. She hopped off her bed and gave her mom a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, Mom.”

Hermione made her way outside. The sky was painted in pinks and purples, evidence that several hours had passed. Just as her mom had said, Tom was still outside, sitting on the swing that was in their backyard. His dark locks were messier than usual, hanging around his dark eyes as he watched the toes of his sneakers drag in the sand. It was true he hadn’t come in all day. She squared her shoulders and walked towards him.

“What do you want?” he demanded. His expression was expertly blank, but Hermione knew what his eyes looked like when he was sad. Had her running away saddened him? Was that why he refused to come in? “Went and told on me, didn’t you? Is your mother going to send me away now?”

Hermione stopped dead in her tracks, a few feet in front of her only sibling, her best friend. “What?” She blinked at him, taking time to process what it meant for Tom to say those things. “I didn’t tell Mom. She told me good people do bad things. You,” she pointed at him, “did a bad thing. That doesn’t mean you’re bad, Tommy.”

“Shut up,” Tom hissed quietly at her. He glanced around the backyard quickly, eyes checking every window of their house to see if any were open. “You can’t just talk about that! And don’t call me that! You aren’t a baby anymore.”

“Then we can tent talk,” she stated simply. Tom shook his head quickly. Hermione crossed her arms across her chest and huffed. “Tent talk or I keep talking about it right now.”

“We’re not doing either--”

“So about that--”

“Fine!” Tom caved quickly. “Fine. Jesus! Tent talk. Twenty minutes after bedtime, okay?”

Hermione smiled with satisfaction. She was the only person she had ever seen get their way with Tom. All the kids at their school were terrified of him, would never dare argue with him, but she got whatever she wanted. It made her giggle.

“Thank you, Tom,” She smiled sweetly at him and he sighed in response, “and I like calling you Tommy…” Tom hopped off the swing and walked over to his step sister. He took her small hand in his and started walking towards the slider door.

“Come on, it’ll be dinner soon,” he muttered. Hermione happily followed him. “We can discuss the ‘Tommy’ stuff at a different time.”

Hermione tried not to think about the fact that the hand holding hers had murdered something hours before. 

\--

Hermione had always been afraid of the dark, for as long as she could remember. Even when she had her flashlight on, she was still afraid of the dark that loomed in her room. The butterfly night-light next to her bookshelf did nothing to ease the fear; if anything, it made it worse by casting shadows around her room. 

She might’ve always been afraid of the dark, but Tom never had been. Tom had never been afraid of anything, not as long as she’d known him. He came right into her room, not scared at all after walking down the pitch black hallway of their home. Hermione had kept the sheets over her head, terrified that the creaking floorboards in the hallway had belonged to a monster, not his feet. He closed the door soundlessly and climbed right into her bed as planned. 

Under the sheets, they both sat facing each other and Tom switched on his flashlight. Even in the dark night, Hermione felt herself relax at the sight of her step brother, her best friend, her protector. Nothing scary could get her if he was there with her. No monster stood a chance against Tom. The night was less scary with him there. 

“You know what we gotta talk about, Tommy,” Hermione started. Her voice and expression were horribly grim for a seven-year-old wearing bunny pajamas.

“I told you I didn’t do it.” The words left his mouth automatically. They were smooth, even, perfectly sewn together in a manner that would convince any average adult. She knew this act well from their two years of living together.

Hermione shook her head. “No,” she stated firmly. Her eyebrows pulled together the way they did whenever she was upset with him—just him. “Don’t do that, don’t talk to me like I’m Mom. I know what I saw—“

“—You didn’t see anything.” Tom cut her off quickly. Hermione knew she had the weaker part in the argument; she was the baby sister. He was Tom, the brother older by two years and thus two times as wise in his own eyes. 

“I’m not a liar,” she hissed quietly. The softness of her childlike features seemed to sharpen in the odd shadows cast by the flashlight. “I saw you kill one of Mrs. Johnson’s cats. Tom, I saw you do it with your own hands.” She leaned forward, her eyes never breaking contact with his grey ones. Hermione was used to Tom’s intense eye contact. It made adults uncomfortable, made them glance around the room as he stared them down, but Hermione didn’t falter. She could play his games almost as well as him.

“Lower your voice!” His command came out a growl, a sound that was disturbing to hear come out of a child. “You don’t know what you’re—“

“Don’t lie to me, Tom!” Hermione pleaded with him. “You can lie to everyone else, but not to me. Not to me. I watched you snap its neck with your hands.” Her eyes filled with despair and the threat of tears. “I  _ saw _ you.”

Tom continued to hold Hermione’s gaze and his childlike features began to soften finally. “Fine,” he stated blandly. “I killed Mrs. Johnson’s cat. What’s it matter to you?”

He watched her closely, waiting for her to pull back and leave. He was waiting for her to cry out for their parents, for her to throw out all the trust she had worked so hard to earn. She saw every ounce of his expectancy of abandonment and held firm. Hermione was terrified, but she could do this for Tom. She could carry this burden of a dead cat--of his murderous hands--for him. She’d do anything for him.

Hermione didn’t move an inch. “Well you can’t do it again,” she said.

“Obviously,” he snorted. “It’s already dead, Hermione.”

She did her best to fight a smile and maintain her serious look. “No more killing animals, okay? I need you to promise me.”

For the first time, Tom looked away first. “What if I don’t want to promise you?”

“You have to,” Hermione stated firmly. She held out her pinky. “You’ve gotta pinky promise you won’t hurt any more animals.”

It took a long moment, but eventually Tom raised his pinky as well and wrapped it tightly around her own. They held them there for a moment, eyes locked as a silent agreement passed between them. They always kept their promises to one another. 

“There,” Tom muttered before taking his pinky back. “Are you happy now?” His voice was harsh, obviously unhappy with not getting his way.

“I’m sorry, Tom. I’m doing this for you.” She looked at him softly, her sweet face watching him. “You’re a good person. We’re good people. I’m helping you stay good.”

Tom snorted, expression pained by a wound Hermione didn’t know existed. “A little late for that.”

“It’s never too late,” Hermione promised him. She placed her hand on top of his and squeezed gently. She watched tension slowly leave his body. Now, Tom looked tired. Hermione couldn’t imagine how emotionally exhausting it was to kill something. “It's okay, Tommy.”

“Hermione, if you keep calling me ‘Tommy’, I’m going to refuse to refer to you as anything but ‘Herman’ for an entire year. I promise you.” He smiled at her, a hint of playfulness peeking past his exhaustion. “Do you want that, Herman?”

Hermione choked on her laughter, quickly covering her mouth to muffle the sound. “Oh no, no, no, no!” She giggled and calmed herself down. “I’ll try to stop calling you ‘Tommy’, okay? As an exchange for the promise? Now go get some rest, please.”

Tom nodded and climbed out from under her sheet tent. “Thank you for being so sweet, little sister.” He gently placed a kiss on her forehead and Hermione smiled up at him. “I’ll see you at breakfast, okay?”

Hermione nodded and quickly repositioned herself so she was lying in bed. She got all ready to sleep before she watched him slip back out her door and into the dark hallway. She fell asleep feeling proud of all she had done to help her best friend.


	2. Chapter One: Liars and Lying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for all the kudos and comments on the prologue! I’m hoping to post twice a week on Wednesday and Saturday or Sunday. I might do more randomly, but this seems to be the best pace for editing so far.
> 
> I hope you like the chapter!

Most days, Hermione could be found with her stepbrother, Tom. They had always been close, always been each other’s confidant and best friend. The past few weeks had been different. Hermione had found herself alone an awful lot that first month of summer. She knew Tom was a senior now and technically ‘cooler’ than her, but Hermione had never imagined that he would  _ ditch _ her. He avoided her throughout the day while their parents were at work. During dinners, his mask as the perfect son he had worked on creating over the past several years was firmly in place. Even to her--the one person he had always been honest with--he was fake, using that smile that didn’t meet his cold eyes. As soon as dinner was over, Tom disappeared behind his locked bedroom door and stayed away until the next morning.

Each day had been the same, a cycle of avoidance that made Hermione’s chest hurt. She had replayed all of their interactions, desperately trying to piece together if she had done anything wrong. They’d had fights before, but Tom had never avoided her for so long, never ignored her presence completely. Hermione couldn’t even stand to be in the house.

That was the reason Hermione slipped out the front door of the family home they had shared for ten years on a too-hot summer day. She needed a break from being home, from the constant tense atmosphere that took over the moment her parents left. Hermione walked their usual routes, trying to find any bit of normalcy. The dirt paths she knew well led her around their small town and into the woods that were behind the neighborhood they lived in.

The woods were dense; Hermione had to keep to the path. It was close to impossible for her to wander off with how thick the greenery was. She’d grown up hearing stories of kids leaving the path and getting lost. It had always tempted her, the idea of pushing through the bushes and trees to see what else they had to offer her. Tom was the one that usually kept her from wandering.

She stopped considering straying when she came across a pungent smell. Her nostrils flared and she coughed. Hermione took a deep breath, trying to rid the smell from her nose. It smelled almost sweet--like something had gone bad. It was a suffocating smell; Hermione couldn’t smell anything but the sickly sweet smell of decay.

The thought hit her before she could help it and she needed to find the source of the smell. Hermione followed the path forward until she found where the smell was strongest, but she still couldn’t find the origin. With a deep breath, she set foot out into the undergrowth, searching for the source of the disgusting smell.

It took her a few minutes, but eventually she found it. Hermione found a large, crumpled dog’s body laying on the forest floor. It was covered with some leaves, but not hidden well at all. Hermione grabbed the longest stick she could find nearby and poked at the creature. The body gave way, easily moved by the stick. A sea of bugs poured out of the holes that had once been the dog’s mouth, nose, and eyes. Hermione let out a scream and fell backwards. She pushed away from the swarm of bugs, shuffling back. The bugs hummed and buzzed, staying with the body they now called home and dinner. 

Hermione expected to be disgusted by the corpse, as she had been when she was little, but she found herself unable to look away. The fur was matted and missing in places, grey, loose flesh exposed to the elements. The bugs had slowed, returning into their home. She felt ill watching them move about, crawling in and out of a head that once held the thoughts of an animal. 

She tried her hardest to avoid looking for any cause of death. She didn’t want to see something familiar, see something she had seen eight years ago on a hot summer day much like the present. Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep, steadying breath before looking back at the corpse. Slowly, Hermione let her eyes run over the dog’s body and stared directly at its neck. There it was. It hadn’t been noticeable immediately due to the state of decomposition, but the dog’s head was turned to an impossible angle. It had probably died from getting its neck snapped. Hermione tried to think of predators that would have broken a dog’s neck, but she was coming up with few ideas. Her stomach sank and she found herself worrying her bottom lip.

Tom hadn’t kept his promise.

\--

Hermione stood outside Tom’s bedroom door for a long time. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, worrying her lip. Sure, she was  _ mad _ at Tom, but confronting her big brother had never been easy. Hermione knew she had held a special place in Tom’s heart before, but what if she didn’t now? Everything had been different in the past month. He had been lying to her, avoiding her. Tom could hate her now, could completely not care about what she had to say. The idea of going into his room and having her care rejected terrified her. Being rejected by Tom would be the worst thing that ever happened to her.

Slowly, she raised her hand and knocked three times on his door. It took a moment, but eventually Tom answered. He stood in his doorway, keeping the door only open enough to reveal himself. Hermione had almost expected a change in experience after witnessing the corpse he had left behind, but Tom was still the same person he had always been. His sculptured features had become more defined each year as he lost the remnants of his baby fat. His grey eyes were cold as ever, situated right above his perfect cheekbones. Her brother was beautiful and staring right through her with a perfected, blank expression. He waited for her to speak. When she didn’t, he sighed.

“Is there something you wanted,” he asked with disinterest, “or are you going to stand here gaping at me all day?”

Hermione closed her mouth, frustration setting in quickly. “We need to talk,” she stated quietly. She wasn’t sure who else was home. Tom Sr. was typically gone until dinner, but her mother liked to stop by while they were on summer break if she could. 

“I don’t recall saying so,” Tom replied simply. He glanced down at his neat nails with boredom. “Go on now.”

“Tom,” Hermione pleaded, “can I please come in?” She didn’t want to do him dirty, she didn’t want to blackmail her way into his room, but if he didn’t give in soon, she would have to. She looked up at him with her warm, honey-colored eyes and hoped his facade would give way. 

Typically, Hermione thought it was neat that Tom was a good half a foot taller than her. In that moment, with his grey eyes boring down at her, she hated the height difference. “No, you cannot.” His tone turned ice cold and Hermione knew she had one more shot before his bedroom door slammed shut in her face.

With a sense of urgency, Hermione leaned forward so that their faces were closer. “I found the dog, Tom, you fucking liar.” Her voice was quiet, the words only heard because she was so close to him. “Now let me into your room so we can talk about this in private and not out in the hallway.”

Hermione couldn’t help but feel satisfied as Tom’s disinterested expression was briefly interrupted by a beat of anger. It was only for a second, but Hermione knew she had won. He hadn’t expected her to piece it all together. He was killing things and--due to the guilt--hiding from her. She wasn’t going to let him lock her out. Tom couldn’t hide this time.

“Now, can you let me in?” she repeated with emphasis, her eyes copying the stone hard gaze she had learned from her older brother at a too-young age. Tom hesitated and stared at her for a long moment, before sighing and taking a step back. He made room for her to walk in and she graciously walked past him, internally proud of herself. She was more like him than he had ever meant for her to be. 

Tom’s room was impeccably neat. Hermione was relatively sure most adults would find it unsettling, but to her it felt like home. His bookshelf was full and in alphabetical order by the author. His bed was covered in dark green sheets and made, unlike most teenagers’ beds. The walls were painted a grey shade of green and had a handful of academic posters placed neatly on them. It suited him.

It was clear he had been sitting at his desk, laptop open and working away on some project or another. He pulled out his desk chair and sat on it, motioning for Hermione to take the bed. She made herself comfortable on the end of it, kicking off her sneakers and pulling her knees up to her chest. She couldn’t keep track of how many evenings she had spent doing homework on his bed while he worked on his computer, how many afternoons they spent sprawled about reading together for hours. 

She’d never thought she would need to have this conversation again.

“Tom,” she started carefully. She didn’t know what tone to use, what direction to approach the topic with. No one prepares you for discussing your brother murdering animals. “You promised you wouldn’t kill any more.”

The statement hung in the air. There was no question, no guidance for the conversation. When he didn’t respond, Hermione continued. “You promised you wouldn’t, but I found that dog in the woods with its neck snapped just like Mrs. Johnson’s cat when we were kids.” Hermione took a deep breath. “Can you be completely honest with me right now? Was that you, Tom?” Her eyes begged him for the truth. “Please, no more lying. We don’t lie to each other. It’s me--your sister. You can tell me anything.” 

Tom waited a long time to respond. She watched him weigh his options. Typically, she knew her brother to lie first and ask questions later. He was a smooth talker, a manipulative boy who outsmarted adults with ease. It came naturally for him to play with people; it had taken him ages to learn not to do those things with her.

Eventually, she watched him relax his shoulders slowly. “I did it,” he replied defensively. “So what? It’s just a stray.” Tom let out an arrogant snort. “It doesn’t matter.”

Hermione found herself getting upset. “It does matter,” she told him seriously. “It matters because you  _ lied _ to me. You told me we don’t lie to each other.” She paused and watched as her brother busied himself by glancing at his bookcase. “What if I had lied to you, Tom? That’d piss you off, right?”

The moment the question left her mouth, she watched Tom’s expression change. Hermione could see the fire in his eyes, see him fighting the snarl his face naturally turned to when he was mad. “I’d be furious,” he snapped quickly.

“Exactly!” Hermione bit back at him. “If I don’t get to lie, you don’t!” Her voice raised and her hands tightened into white-knuckled fists. “If you don’t want me lying to you, hiding things from you, you can’t do the same thing to me. That’s how it is! I swear to God, Tom, I’ll go eat lunch by myself this year and I’ll make my own friends and--”

“Fine! Fuck, shut up! Just fucking shut up!” Tom spat out harshly. His grey eyes were alive, were filled with life, the way Hermione liked them. “I did it. I killed the fucking dog and I lied to you, okay? You think I didn’t feel guilty? I’ve been avoiding you for three fucking weeks, Hermione. That’s a long time to avoid someone you share a bedroom wall with.”

Tom pushed to his feet and began to pace quickly. He didn’t look at his sister as he paced, but stared directly in front of him, at some abstract future as he ran his fingers through his neatly combed hair. “I killed that dog with my hands and I  _ liked  _ it.” Tom growled with darkened eyes. “I... I held its life in my hands.” He looked at the palms of his hand with awe. “I held it there and I ripped life away from it, Hermione. I  _ watched _ it die.” 

Tom shuddered, a menacing smile on his lips. His expression was verging on carnal. Tom flexed his hands, staring at them still. They were his tools of death, the two instruments he had used to kill twice now--that she knew of. 

His pacing came to an end and he continued. “I couldn’t hold off any longer, Hermione. I tried; I kept our promise a long time, but I can’t keep doing it.” He looked right at her, eyes locked together. She asked for him to be genuine and here he was, soul bared to her. He was exposed, vulnerable. It was almost too much for her to witness. She’d never seen her brother look like this. Tom looked half-crazed, like a starved man dropped in the middle of a grocery store. It unnerved her. It hurt to look at him.

“You ‘can’t’?” Hermione repeated quietly. She was trying her best to understand her brother, but Tom was somewhere she wasn’t. She didn’t understand what he was saying. Hermione could comprehend what words were leaving his mouth, but she couldn’t string them together and understand their sum meaning. Tom, her brother, couldn’t help but kill animals? What was she supposed to do with that? She didn’t want to hear that.

“I can’t,” Tom repeated in a matching tone. He walked towards her and knelt before her. The act brought him closer to eye level with her, where she sat on the bed still. “I can’t stop killing, Hermione. I know you don’t get it, but there’s something in me that says I have to. I don’t expect you to understand, but you wanted the truth, so here it is.” The look in his eyes was haunting, a mixture of despair and debauch. Hermione saw a flash of the lonely little boy she had seen the first day they met; the boy that had gotten lost somewhere along the way. 

“Do you want to be like this?” Hermione whispered, her eyes searching desperately. She reached out her hand and placed it gently on his cheek. Tom closed his eyes and leaned into her soft touch. Her touch was the only physical affection she had ever seen him accept. “Are you happy killing animals?”

“I don’t have a choice,” he murmured. His body relaxed before her, the build up of their fight dissipating. “I don’t know if I want to be or not; I just am. I always have been. I don’t remember not being like this, even before you came along. It’s either this or people. It makes me feel alive.” Tom paused and finally opened his eyes. They were dark, a burning charcoal. “It makes me happy, just like you do.”

With that statement alone, Hermione felt all her anger flow out of her body. She didn’t have a choice; she couldn’t be angry at Tom. She didn’t know how to stay angry with him long, especially when she was the only person he could be so close to. Hermione believed him and the words he said. Now, she had some work to do. It was her job to find out why Tom didn’t have a choice but to kill, why his mind had been whispering dark thoughts to him since he was a young boy. There has to be a reason why and--luckily--research was Hermione’s strong suit.


	3. Chapter Two - Handbook of Psychopathy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! Thanks for all the comments, kudos, and bookmarks everyone. I really appreciate all of it. I plan on keeping up with posting my chapters on time. If you wanna talk at all, my tumblr is a-lover-still!
> 
> Shout out to my alpha/beta Zee! Thanks for helping me keep things on track and on time.

**Chapter Two - Handbook of Psychopathy**

The next morning was much more like a typical one in the Granger-Riddle household. For the previous few weeks, breakfast had been an unsavory event. Tom had been ignoring Hermione’s existence. Now, he recognized that she was there. Tom gave her a small nod of recognition that made Hermione beam with happiness. She felt her hunger come back in a wave. Despite all the tension that had been between the two teens, neither parent had noticed a change from their normal behavior during the entire time.

Even in summer Tom and Hermione ate breakfast with their parents, while most teens would be found sleeping until noon. They sat across from each other in the same self-assigned spots they had sat in for ten years. Hermione’s mother, Jean, came into the room with a warm smile. She added a plate full of hot bacon to add to the breakfast spread of biscuits and gravy that her children had already brought to the table.

“Good morning, kids,” Jean greeted them pleasantly. Jean and Hermione shared a lot of their attributes. Her mother had the same honey eyes and curls, but over the years Jean’s curls had tamed. She wore them up in a neat bun, a few curls purposely left down to accent her face. 

Jean settled into her seat while Tom’s father, Tom Sr., made his way into the room with two mugs of steaming coffee. He sat one in front of his wife and the other at the last open seat--his. “Thank you, darling.”

“You’re welcome, Jean.” He nodded to her and their kids before beginning to read the morning paper, just like every other day. Tom Sr. didn’t look as much like his son as Hermione had expected. Her Tom was already two inches taller than him. His father had less defined features and his skin had a more olive tone. The main similarities they shared were their dark locks and grey eyes. 

“Any plans for the day, kids?” Tom Sr. asked over the paper, between two long sips of black coffee. He glanced at both teens briefly.

“Nothing in particular,” Tom responded casually. Hermione watched him meticulously eat his breakfast. Each bite was cut perfectly, all about the same size, having the same amount of biscuit and gravy on each. 

“I’m heading out to the library,” Hermione informed them after she swallowed a mouthful of floppy bacon. She purposely ignored Tom’s pointed look.

“Didn’t you just go earlier this week, honey?” Jean asked her, a playful smile on her face. Both of her parents knew she loved the library and visited it frequently--especially during summer.

“Oh. Yes, I did,” Hermione replied simply. “I finished the four books I got Monday and I wanted some more. Do you have anything you’d like me to return or pick up?” She smiled politely at her mother who shook her head.

“No thank you, Hermione, but thanks for asking.” The rest of breakfast was relatively quiet. Jean informed them they would be having pork chops for dinner and Tom Sr. gave them a few updates on the local political scene. At half an hour until nine, they all cleaned up the table and their parents headed out for the day.

Tom stopped Hermione as she tried to leave the kitchen. He held onto her wrist for a moment, listening for the front door to latch shut and then lock. She waited patiently while he checked to see if their parents had driven away.

“Why are you going to the library?” he demanded. Hermione could see the paranoia in his eyes, it was leaking out of him. An emotion even Tom couldn’t suppress.

“I have some research I want to do,” she told him plainly. Hermione shook his hand off her wrist, a red imprint on her tanned skin. She rubbed it absentmindedly. “What’s wrong, Tom?”

She watched her brother hesitate, a rare sight to be seen. “You aren’t going to tell someone?” Tom asked. His voice was low, accusatory. 

Hermione snorted. “A promise is a promise, Tom. I won’t tell anyone, okay?” She gave him a warm smile, a gesture that seemed to put his paranoia at ease. “I promise I won’t tell anyone. This is between you and me.”

Tom eyed her for a moment longer before ceasing his worrying. “Alright, then. Can you bring back a few books for me? I was breezing through books when I was avoiding you.” Hermione snorted again and he gave her a genuine smile, something only she ever got.

“Yeah, whatever, bring them out here and I’ll take them,” she told him with a playful roll of her eyes. 

\--

Hermione’s walk to the library was uneventful--which she was grateful for after the previous day. Their town was small, which meant their library was relatively small as well. It helped that the librarians all knew Hermione by name and constantly got books on loan from other branches for her. She wasn’t sure what their small library would have to offer on the topic of murder, but it was the first solution she could think of. The library had always been her place of solace. 

She started off in the nonfiction section, over by psychology. Hermione hadn’t even bothered to search the computer system for any books; the topic of psychology was as much of a lead as she had. Slowly, she read over the titles on the worn spines. Her fingers ran over the plastic wrapped books until she found one that looked like the perfect start.

Thinking back to their evenings of crime television with their parents, Hermione found the keyword she had been looking for:  _ psychopath _ . She quickly grabbed a book titled  _ Handbook of Psychopathy _ and another one titled  _ Diagnostic and Statistical Manual for Mental Disorders: 5th Edition (DSM 5) _ . She brought them both with her to an unoccupied table in a corner of the library. With her notetaking supplies out, Hermione set loose on the materials she had found.

The  _ DSM V _ didn’t have psychopathy as a listed disorder. Hermione referenced the handbook and found out she could use the Antisocial Personality Disorder diagnosis to see if Tom possibly was a psychopath or a sociopath. She took the time to read the disorder’s requirements and grew increasingly uncomfortable. Her brother fit several of the listed bullet points when he only needed to meet three. It felt like she was reading a character description of him in a textbook. Hermione closed the thick book and pushed it away with a bad taste in her mouth.

Hermione didn’t touch the  _ DSM V _ anymore. She worked her way through the handbook and then a few more books in the section. She made sure to take all of her notes at the library, not checking out any of the books under her name. It wasn’t likely to bring up any red flags, but Hermione prefered to not have a stack of books related to psychopaths checked out with her library card.

It was late afternoon when she felt satisfied with her notetaking. Hermione put all the books she used away and packed up her binder of color-coded notes. She smiled proudly to herself as she walked out the library doors, content with her work.

\--

“You mean to tell me you spent the whole damn day researching some shit I  _ already knew _ ?” Tom asked rhetorically, his tone blatantly angry. 

He was pacing before her yet again. They were both closed up in his room with Hermione sitting on his bed just like the day before. This time she sat with her legs criss-crossed, her hair pulled up in a messy bun, with her binder in front of her.

“Can you let me talk, please, Tom?” Hermione asked him softly. “I worked all day on this and you’re just assuming you know every bit of what I did.”

“There’s only one library in town.” Tom snorted. “Where do you think I went to look into myself? You think I didn’t go research all this? You think I didn’t try to stop all these thoughts from flooding my mind?” The more he spoke, the more worked up he got. She watched his hands turn into clenched fists, his skin white and stretched tight across his knuckles. Hermione could feel anger permeating off of his. This was the Tom she knew: arrogant, angry, impulsive. This was the same Tom that she got just to herself.

“God, will you shut the fuck up?” She let out a loud, frustrated sigh. “Before you go off on one of your tirads, maybe you’d like to hear what I have to say? You’ve admitted that I  _ constantly _ surprise you.” Hermione raised her eyebrows at him and prayed that the brilliant boy before her would get his temper under check for just a moment.

Tom stopped pacing and stood directly before her, glowering down at his little sister. To anyone else it would have been intimidating, but to Hermione it was just normal Tom. It took a lot more from her brother to get a rise out of her. He let out an irritated shout and rubbed his face with his hand. “Fine, alright. What is it you think you know that I don’t?” His question came out a barked command. 

Hermione quickly opened her binder and glanced at her notes. She had one shot before Tom refused to listen to her again.

“There’s been a lot of research in psychopaths in the past 40 years or so,” Hermione began. Tom already looked uninterested, but she gave him a warning look. “There’s a lot we still don’t know, obviously. I think one of the biggest points is that not all psychopaths end up being killers, yet you feel the inexplicable need to. That’s what we need to focus on the most.” She paused and took a deep breath. Her nerves calmed when she saw Tom was giving her a real chance. He nodded and waited impatiently for her to continue. “Now are you killing because you like the act or is it because of your need to break the law and prove your intelligence? Once we figure out which one it is, we can work on an answer from there. It’ll narrow the possibilities.”

Tom had a strange look in his eyes as he looked at her. It wasn’t one she recognized, which made her furrow her eyebrows. Hermione knew all of his expressions by heart, knew him better than she knew herself. 

“If I can give you an answer right now, will that help you?” When he spoke, his words were even and calm. He’d managed to round up all his anger and push it away. Now, he stood before her and locked eyes with her.

“I mean, yes.” Hermione tilted her head to the side in intrigue. “You already know the answer?”

“The moment you asked it, I knew.” His words were heavy, as if they carried the weight of the world in them. Tom pulled his desk chair forward and sat it directly in front of Hermione. He sat in it and laced his fingers together.

“Hermione, I  _ like _ killing.”

His voice was low, so low Hermione was afraid she had heard him wrong.  _ He liked it?  _ Tom enjoyed killing things? How could someone she loved so much be okay with doing something so awful?

“Tom, no--”

Tom shushed her and took her hands in his. “I know this isn’t easy to hear, Hermione. I didn’t ask to be like this, but I have been since before I met you and I’ll be like this until I’m in the ground. Killing cats and dogs? It barely does anything for me.” His eyes came alive, an excitement Hermione had never seen before. She’d never seen Tom so passionate about a subject before. Her stomach felt uneasy. “I’ve dreamt of killing people since I was a child, darling. It’s always been like this. Whether or not it’s because I might be a psychopath, we’ll never know, but it’s inside of me and it’s going to win. One day it’s going to win and I’m going to be glad it did.”

She had never seen his grey eyes ever look so warm and  _ alive _ . Tom looked alive. Her brother, usually so closed off and cold to the world around them, looked idyllic before her. Who was she to take away the one thing that might make him truly happy?

Slowly, Hermione took one of his hands from hers and pulled it up to her cheek. She rested against his open palm and closed her eyes. She took a moment to appreciate the warmth of his hand, to enjoy the comfort his touch brought her despite what they were discussing. Regardless of what he needed, he would always be her Tom.

“Tom?” Hermione asked quietly, eyes still closed. A sweet smile was on her lips.

“Yes?” She could hear the caution in his tone. It made her pleased that she was the only person he worried about upsetting. She was the only person that truly mattered to him. How could she ever abandon him?

“I guess I’ll have to find you someone to kill then, won’t I?”


	4. Chapter Three - A Little Candor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! This is a shorter chapter just because that's how it turned out, but the next one is quite a bit longer and hopefully makes up for that <3 Hope you enjoy it! Shout out to Zee, yet again, for being an amazing Beta!
> 
> Thank you for all the kudos and comments everyone!

_ “I guess I’ll have to find you someone to kill then, won’t I?” _

Hermione opened her eyes to find Tom staring at her. His eyes were unreadable, an expression she had never seen before. When had he started looking at her like that? He slowly pulled his hand back from her soft cheek and Hermione let out a quiet sigh. Her candor startled him.

“That’s not funny, Hermione,” Tom murmured quietly. His grey eyes bore into hers. She could swear she almost saw a dash of hope in them.

“I’m not joking.” She sat up straight and put both of his hands in hers again. Hermione maintained Tom’s eye contact and gave him a small nod. “You said you had to do this, right? Then I’m going to help you and we’re going to find the safest way for you to do it. I’ll need some time to find a foolproof plan, but it’ll all be okay.” Somehow, she found herself giving him a small smile. “We’ve never given up on each other before.”

“Hermione, you’re talking about becoming an accomplice in  _ murder _ .” Tom spoke each word slowly and clearly to make sure she understood him. She tried her best to not be irritated in the belittling action. 

“You’re going to be killing people anyways, right, Tom?” Hermione quit the gentle act. It wasn’t getting them anywhere and they only had so much time before their parents got home. Tom wasn’t going to believe her if she spoke softly and used kind words. She had to speak his language. When he didn’t answer immediately, she spoke again. “That wasn’t rhetoric, Tom.”

Tom let out a displeased sigh. “Yes I am, Hermione. I plan on killing people regardless of if I have your permission or not.” He kept his words even and clipped. She knew he hated when she acted like him.

“Exactly! You’re going to be doing this anyways. I’m going to be your impartial third party who makes sure you don’t make any mistakes. I’m going to be the one that makes sure you don’t leave evidence, that you get  _ away  _ with this, Tom.” Hermione shook her head with frustration. “I can’t lose you, okay? I don’t know what I’d do without you. I’m not letting this or anything else take you away.”

Instead of fighting with her more, Tom sat in silence. He stared at her for a long moment, assessing her with his dark eyes. After a moment, he placed his hand back on her cheek. His touch soothed her and she let her eyes close slowly.

“I’m not going anywhere, okay?” His voice was quieter now. It was as close to a soft tone as Hermione had ever known Tom’s voice to get. “Anywhere I go I am taking you with me.”

“Give me some time and I’ll come up with some plans, okay?” Hermione opened her eyes to see that new emotion in Tom’s eyes again. It made her stomach feel weird. “I already have some ideas.”

“You can have as much time as you want,” Tom promised her. “You can have anything you want.”

Hermione smiled up at him, content once again with getting her way. She didn’t think she would ever get tired of Tom giving in to her.

“Thank you,” she replied with a sweet smile and he just shook his head.

\--

The biggest challenge Hermione was facing was finding a way to access the information she needed. It didn’t seem like the best idea to Google ‘effective ways to dispose of a body’. She wasn’t going to be able to find it directly. It was becoming abundantly clear she would have to do her research the long way; Hermione was going to have to learn about other serial killers to find out what did and did not work.

It took her a day, but she compiled a list of sources she felt confident relying on. After making a mental note to burn her notes at some point, Hermione stood outside Tom’s door and knocked. When Tom answered, he didn’t greet her. He simply opened the door and motioned for her to come in. She gave him a smile and hopped onto his bed.

“We’ve got a lot of work to do, but if we start soon, I think we can get you your first victim when term starts,” Hermione stated nonchalantly. Tom’s eyes widened just for a moment before narrowing in on her.

“Hermione, if this is a joke, I--”

She cut him off quickly, earning her a trademarked Tom glare. “I’m not joking about this,” Hermione told him firmly. “What part of killing someone seems funny? None of this is  _ funny _ , Tom. You’ve got a condition and I’m doing the only thing either of us can think of to help.” 

In that moment, Hermione was more somber than she could ever remember being. “If there was another way, Tom, I’d choose that. If you can think up any other plan, please, feel free to step up and brainstorm with me, but if you can’t? I don’t want you taking this as a joke.” She looked down at her notes and shuffled them, doing anything to save face. “This is serious. People are going to be losing a lot for you to be helped. We have to take this seriously or not do it at all.”

Hermione was met with a long silence. She didn’t dare look up for fear he hadn’t taken her seriously. She couldn’t handle him laughing at this. This was beyond morally wrong, but she was willing to do it to keep Tom from being locked up for life. It was this or see Tom put away in a mental facility the rest of his life--at best. It was this or lose the one person she relied on the most, lose the person who knew her inside and out. Hermione was willing to make this sacrifice, but not if he was going to disrespect it by mocking her.

“Hermione.” His voice came out quietly, close to soft yet again. She couldn’t help but relax at the tone of it. The bed dipped as he sat next to her and pulled her into a rare hug. Hermione buried her face into his shoulder and Tom stroked her unruly curls. “I would never make a joke out of someone making such a sacrifice for me.” She felt a kiss be placed on the top of her head and her stomach felt funny again. “I’m not joking or mocking you. It all sounds too good to be true. I knew you were a gift sent from God, but this?” He took a deep breath. “I can’t believe I got so lucky.”

“No one sent me,” Hermione murmured against his shirt. “The Devil himself must’ve planned this. God had no hand in what we’re going to do.”

Tom let out a quiet chuckle. “I guess you’re right about that.”

He released his hold of her, but kept one arm around her shoulders. Hermione stayed seated closer to him, appreciating the affection from her brother. She looked back over her notes and took a deep breath. She was ready.

“Alright, this is going to sound ridiculous, but I found some sources for us to use. There’s no straight guide on how to get away with murder, so we’re going to have to take from various sources.” Hermione glanced at Tom and gave him a shy smile. “I went on reddit and found lists of the most accurate television shows and most detailed books on the matter. I compiled a list of media for us to consume over the rest of the break. From those sources, we can come up with a comprehensive plan on how to commit the perfect murder over and over again.”

Tom raised an eyebrow as he looked down at his little sister. “‘Television shows’?” he quoted doubtfully. “Why in God’s name are we going to watch a television show to help us get away with murder?”

“Those shows are based on real murders,” Hermione snapped. She didn’t appreciate her research being questioned. “Not all of them, but some? They’re accurate. I’m not saying we’re going to sit around all summer and only watch television, then pick up a knife and stab someone. It’s  _ one  _ source, you asshole.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I’ve also got a list of true crime nonfiction novels that explicitly explain how the murderers avoided detection for years and how they eventually got caught. I cross referenced the list and have the first round of them on hold for us already. I have the second wave coming from other branches for us.”

Hermione shook his arm off her shoulders, earning her a glare. “I told you I was going to do this right. We’re going to spend the next month and a half reading as many books and watching as much television as we possibly can. We’re going to take notes, we’re going to brainstorm, and we're going to come up with a solid plan. A plan--might I add--that we will both agree with.” She let out a quiet huff.

“Hermione,” Tom sighed, “I didn’t mean to upset you. I understand. Thank you for finding us these sources. I appreciate all your effort.”

She watched him cautiously and he gave her one of his dazzling smiles. She hated that they worked on her.

“How about we start the show right now and go pick up the books tomorrow?” His arm was back around her shoulders and, this time, she didn’t shrug him off. Hermione felt a small smile creep on her lips and she nodded. “What’s the first show we’re starting?”

“ _ Forensic Files _ ,” Hermione informed him. “We’ve already watched some with Mother and Father, so it won’t even be suspicious. It’s about real cases with real witnesses, police, and evidence. It’s what we need.”

“Here we go,” Tom muttered to himself.

“It’ll be fun, alright?” Hermione laughed. “I thought you’d enjoy consuming mass amounts of media all about your favorite pastime.”

Tom gave her a pointed look, but she kept smiling. “It’s...confusing,” he explained. He sounded uncomfortable, which was a very rare tone for him to use. “Watching other people be murdered, seeing the blood, it’s appealing to me, but it only does so much. It leaves me wanting more than I started with. It’s like giving an alcoholic just one drink; I’m going to want more.”

Hermione could see the lust in his eyes as he spoke of the blood. With each day, she began to understand Tom more. “You just have to make it through this and then you can have a real drink,” she promised him quietly.

She caught a genuine smile of his. The hunger was still alive in his eyes and Hermione caught sight of him quickly licking his lips. 

_ This would all be worth it to see him happy _ , Hermione promised herself.


	5. Chapter Four: Our Domain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some people have been asking about this, so: Hermione is 15 (although her birthday is around the corner) and Tom is 17. Also, the serial killer referenced is actually Robert Pickton and the information I'm using is true to what I found. I'm simply using an in universe name because it feels strange not to.
> 
> Thank you everyone for reading and commenting!

Researching with Tom was enjoyable. There was never enough reason for Hermione to hangout with him all day. They rarely did much else, but it pleased her to know the rest of their summer break was obligated to one another. There were days they spent lying side by side out on a blanket in the backyard, basking in the sunlight like lazy cats and reading horribly graphic true crime books. There were days they did that same exact thing, but lying on his small bed together, Hermione’s head resting on Tom’s shoulder. Their evenings were spent all together with their parents, stealthily doing more research. As a family, they had begun to watch  _ Forensic Files _ each night. Tom sat right next to Hermione and nudged her whenever he thought a piece of information was particularly useful.

Tom spent the daylight hours sneaking in tidbits of information about himself to Hermione and she thrived on it. He was giving her an insight to his mind, a private place no one else had even known existed. She heard about the first time he thought about killing one of Mrs. Johnson’s cats (two weeks after they all moved in together) and the first time he had actually done it (months before their incident together). Tom told her about his dreams at night, how he would be covered in warm blood as he stared down at dead, faceless bodies.

He fed her details slowly. Hermione was certain it was a test of loyalty at first, a test of strength and courage, a test of if she could stomach it better than she could the cat all those years back. She did; Hermione stomached the anecdotes and bravely asked questions. Then the floodgates opened and Tom began to tell her more, more than he seemed to mean to. When he spoke, his grey eyes turned to coal. He became a predator before her, but she was no prey to him. Soon, Tom was telling her his thoughts just so he didn’t have to keep them to himself any longer.

\--

“I don’t see why the victim matters.” Tom spat his words at her harshly. They were both in his room with the door closed and locked, regardless of the fact that it was only them home. Hermione stood in front of his computer with her arms folded across her chest. Her wild curls were everywhere as she glared at her brother. Tom stood between her and the bed, his well-manicured hands in clenched fists.

“Of course the victim matters!” Hermione threw her arms up in the air. “That’s the entire purpose of me helping you! You can’t just go around killing whomever the fuck you want!” She looked at him incredulously, wondering how he was failing to understand her.

“By picking and choosing who I’m killing, we’re implying some lives are worth more than others.” He snorted. Tom’s eyes darkened, just as they did whenever they began to discuss the act of murder. It sent a chill down Hermione’s spin. “Is that what you’re implying, Hermione? That some people are worth more in society than others? That we should go find a quiet, homeless drunk and off him instead of some soccer mom? Is  _ that _ what you’d prefer we do?”

Hermione let out a shout of frustration. “Stop being so arrogant!” She took a step towards him and got in his space. The only sign that it upset him was the slight flare of his nostrils. No one disrespected Tom Riddle. Well, no one, but his little sister. 

“I’m not implying a homeless person has no worth to society--and stop saying ‘we’! I’m not killing these people with you, Tom! You are! I’m just saying we need to logistically pick and choose a victim to narrow down the societial impact the murder has.” She shook her head at him, her face hot with anger. He was an incredibly intelligent man; why was he being such an ass? 

“Oh?” Tom smirked down at her. “So what you’re saying instead is that  _ we _ should kill the homeless man because less people would be sad over it compared to the soccer mom, who would have an entire family grieving her? You want to minimize the wake our actions are going to cause?” 

Tom was the one to step closer this time. To accommodate the lack of space between them, Hermione took two steps back and bumped into his desk chair. She could see the predator inside flash in his eyes and a lump got stuck in her throat. She hated that her hands were shaking. 

He insisted on saying ‘we’ and it terrified her. She wasn’t a murderer; she was just helping out her brother.

“Tom,” Hermione started with a low voice, “what I’m saying is that we have the power to pick and choose who... _ we _ go after. We have been given the privilege to help society. Shouldn’t we use it?” She looked up at her big brother with her warm, honey brown eyes in the same way that always got him to give her the last bowl of cereal. She watched as the predator slowly backed down and that strange, new expression made its way back. Whatever it was, it made him more willing to negotiate.

“Fine,” he replied in a disgruntled tone. “We will both sit down and discuss the victim beforehand, but  _ I  _ get final say, alright? If I’m doing most of the dirty work here, I want to be the one that gives the green light. Understand?”

Hermione simply stared back at him. He was doing most of the work? He was the one who wanted this! He was the reason she was looking at bloody crime scene photos five times a day and analyzing how these criminals failed. He was the reason they were arguing in the first place, yet he was making it sound like such a hardship. 

“Hermione?” Tom looked down at her, trying to gain her attention back. Gently, he grabbed her chin with one hand. He tilted her head up, so she was looking right into his eyes. They were so intense, so dark that Hermione was afraid of getting lost in them. She nodded slightly, letting him know she was paying attention. “I want you to agree to those terms verbally so we don’t have this issue again.” His voice was firm, but still attempting to be gentle. 

She found herself smiling and nodding. Everything he did was for their best interest, she knew that. This was, too. “Yes, Tom,” she told him obediently. “You can have the final say, okay?”

“Good girl.” Tom chuckled and let go of her chin. He turned his attention back to his book on his bed, missing her widened eyes. His words made her stomach do flips yet again. Hermione took a deep breath and slowly let it out. Everything was okay; there was no reason for her to be so nervous.

\--

“I wish we had access to a pig farm,” Hermione stated out of the blue one morning. She let out a disappointed sigh and set her book down next to her. They were both outside, yet again, laying on a fleece blanket in their backyard. Hermione was laying on her back, now staring at the clouds rolling across the blue sky. Her wild curls were spread around her like a crown.

Tom laid on his stomach, propped up on his elbows to the side of her. He glanced over at her, barely interested. “Craving some bacon?” he asked with a chuckle before returning his gaze to his book.

Hermione took a moment to look at him. She loved the thoughtful expression he wore when he read something he was actually interested in. If he didn’t care about a book he was reading, he made it blatant. This one had piqued his interest. Tom’s eyes moved quickly over the pages, the corner of his lips tugged down in concentration. She thought he looked beautiful.

“No, you idiot.” She rolled her eyes and looked back up at the clouds. “Ever heard of Walden Macnair?”

“No, I have not,” Tom replied haughtily. He set down his book as well and turned his attention to Hermione. “But I have a feeling you’re going to tell me about him.”

Hermione rolled her eyes at his attitude and propped herself up on her elbows, raising herself to his eye level. “He was a pig farmer up in Canada who could be responsible for up to 49 murders,” she told him simply. With each word she said, she watched Tom take more interest in the words leaving her mouth. His eyes narrowed and darkened, her predator fighting for freedom already. “He was only able to be charged with six of them. Macnair got away with it for so long because he was feeding the bodies to the pigs on his farm.

“You see,” Hermione sat up completely, a smile forming on her lips that she wouldn’t have recognized in the mirror, “pigs eat everything. They eat clothes, hair,  _ bones _ , Tom. They eat everything you give them. So this guy, Macnair, killed prostitutes and fed them to his pigs. They only caught him because they found a different way to get a warrant and the idiot was stupid enough to keep trophies. He had shit from like 20 women around his farm.”

Tom stared at her for a long moment. He began to smile and Hermione felt pride swell in her chest. “That’s smart,” Tom murmured. “I had no idea about the pigs.” He furrowed his brows, lost in thought for a long moment. Hermione waited patiently while he did what he did best--plan. She watched in awe as he pieced some unknown thoughts together right before her, from information  _ she  _ gave him.

“I think I know how we’re going to get rid of the bodies,” Tom told her in a low voice. He sat up as well and sat directly before her. They both sat with their legs cross, knees to knees. “I found a location two summers ago--” she made a face and he waved her off, “--and I’ve been staking it out off and on to make sure it was truly abandoned in case I ever needed it. It’s out near that old farm.”

“That old guy’s farm?” Hermione raised her eyebrows. “What’s his name, Abe-something? The one Lucius insists fucks goats? He’s been out there for forever. Is he even still alive?”

“Exactly him. If he’s still there, he might have pigs.” Tom’s voice was still low, but Hermione could hear the edges of excitement in it as she looked into his coal eyes. “We can dismember the bodies and bring the pieces out to the pigs at night. We could sneak out easily, carry a few pieces over at a time, and give them to the pigs.”

Hermione blinked in shock.  _ Dismember?  _ “Tom,” she started slowly, “bodies are heavy. Unless that old building is right next door to those pigs, I can’t see me being much use  _ carrying body parts around _ . Are you fucking nuts?” She looked at him incredulously. “How about you show me this building first and the farm and we go from there, alright? God, we went from pigs to dismemberment real fast.” Hermione rubbed her face with her hand in disbelief.

That earned a genuine laugh from Tom. It was deeper than it used to be, but Hermione loved his laugh. People rarely got to hear the real one, but she pulled it out of him the most. She felt herself smile as he laughed, his eyes closed and his shoulders rising and falling. So few people could make Tom happy; she felt it was her duty to do so.

“Come on then,” Tom told her once he finished laughing. He picked up their books and stood, reaching one hand out to help her up. Hermione gladly took it and he helped her to her feet with ease. “I have a building and a farm to show you.”

The pair made a quick stop inside to drop off their books and the blanket before heading out front. Tom led her out of the neighborhood and kept going past their high school, which was only half a mile away. They went into the woods behind the football field and started following an unkempt path. Hermione kept following her brother, anxiety rising as the path became more and more unclear.

“Tom,” she murmured, “the path...it’s gone. How do you know which direction to go?” She took Tom’s wrist and pulled him to a stop. He glanced back at her with reassuring eyes and Hermione simply nodded. 

Hermione released his wrist, but he reached back and gently took her hand. “I’ve been out here a lot, remember?” His voice was as close to soft as it could get. “Last year, the afternoons I went to Severus’s? I was usually here. I don’t even know where he lives.” Tom gave her a smirk and Hermione let out a huff. She wanted to be mad about the lying, but at least he was being honest now. “I’ve got you. Do you trust me?” Tom’s grey eyes searched hers and she took a deep breath.

“Always,” Hermione told him quietly. “Just...go slow. I don’t want to trip.”

Tom guided her through the thickening woods. There was close to no sign that humanity had made it this far, but Hermione could see the little signs of Tom’s visits left on the overgrown path. She saw broken twigs, a few stepped on plants, and the occasional footstep. They were all signs of him, but that was all. It was obvious the path had stopped being maintained or traveled years ago, long before Tom had found it. It was in their best interest to keep the path hidden.

Eventually, the trees parted and they entered a clearing. In the middle stood an old building that had been taken over by Mother Nature. Hermione was certain it had been left uninhabited for at least twenty years if the plants growing up the sides of it were any sign. Ivy vines climbed the old, cracked stone, making it almost blend in with the trees themselves. It was boarded up for the most part, only the door and a few windows uncovered. Hermione was thankful it was made out of stone and not wood; she had been afraid Tom was bringing her to some leaning hut. 

“I cleaned out the inside some,” Tom informed her as he pointed to a pile of broken rocks and junk. “There was a lot of broken shit in there. Things had crumbled over time and were smashed on the floor. It’s obviously not an ideal facility, but the location is great.” He turned to her and gave her a devious smile. She knew that smile meant trouble.

“Tom, what are--”

“Help!” Tom screamed at the top of his lungs. His smile twisted into something wicked, a demented grin that gave Hermione chills. She jumped at the sudden loudness, the air being knocked out of her lungs by pure fear. “Help me! Help! Come help! Help, please!”

His screams echoed through the woods and flocks of birds flew off into the air, startled by the noise. Hermione smacked his arm furiously once she collected herself. “What are you doing?” she demanded. Her heart was pounding in her chest. Was he trying to get them in trouble? “Are you absolutely mental?”

“No,” he told her with his grin still on. “Look around.” He held his arms out and spun in an excited circle. “No one heard me, Hermione. No one heard a word.” Tom stopped facing her and cupped her face with his hands. Her body went from ice cold to very,  _ very  _ warm. “Isn’t it perfect? No one can stop us out here.”

Hermione looked up into her brother’s eyes. Happiness mixed with his wicked smile and she couldn’t help but revel in the genius of it all. It was awful and bad that Tom had thought this through already, but Hermione had to admire her brother for his thoroughness.

“It is,” she admitted and looked back over to their building. “Can we go inside?”

Tom looked pleased and led the way. The stone the building was made of was old and grey, caked in dirt and spiderwebs. The windows were mostly blocked--boarded up from the inside--and glazed over with dust. Tom guided them to what was supposed to be a door--a collection of wooden boards nailed together hanging from one hinge in the door frame.

“Classy,” Hermione joked and Tom sent a glare her way. “Hey,” she held her hands up in defense, “I’m just saying this isn’t the Ritz.”

“Shut up,” Tom snapped at her as he pulled the door open. It shouted in protest the entire way and he gestured for Hermione to enter. “Ladies first.”

With a roll of her eyes, Hermione obeyed and walked through the doorway into the decaying building. She’d seen pictures of abandoned buildings online before, but it wasn’t the same as standing in the wake of humanity. The building was really just one big room which seemed to have been used to store tools and other farming wares. In the corners of the space, there were still old barrels and decaying stacks of hay. Hermione was fairly certain the center of the room was empty only because Tom had pushed the bulky items that remained to the sides. There were cupboards and cabinets on the walls, but most were caved in with hanging or missing doors. Beams of light illuminated the room from the holes in the ceiling, making it all more eerie. The only thing from the current decade in the room was the cheap broom across the room from them that was bright green. It wasn’t from their home, so Tom must’ve bought it from somewhere and brought it to sweep all the dust and rocks to the sides of the room.

It was unnerving to see such a space. The first thought Hemione had was wondering if the space was haunted. If they killed people there, would they make it haunted? She didn’t believe in the afterlife or the supernatural, but their new building made her think of the scary movies Tom liked to watch. 

“I already did the clean up,” Tom explained as he joined her, “so there’s nothing for you to worry about. We’ll need to get tools, but the space is good on its own.” He looked to Hermione, waiting for her approval of the space. The entire building sent chills down her spine, but she guessed that made it perfect; it made her as uncomfortable as the rest of their research did.

“It’s perfect,” she promised him. She gave him a practiced smile and Tom accepted what he wanted to see. 

\--

Tom and Hermione stood side by side leaning on an old, wooden fence. The fence surrounded a large farm that was old and uncared for. Twenty yards to their right was a large pen of pigs who were making lots of noise as they moved lazily through their mud. Much farther away seemed to be the main house of the farm, where they saw the lights turn on one by one.

“So he is alive,” Hermione admitted. “I will give you that one. He exists.”

“It’s not too far of a trip from the building,” Tom told her. “Just another 30 minute walk in the woods. It’s all set up for us.” Hermione could see the pleasure in his eyes and she let out a quiet sigh.

“Tom, I still can’t help you carry an entire body through that thick of a forest--even if we both had half of it in a bag.” Hermione shook her head in frustration. “Plus, we aren’t even sure the rate that pigs eat bodies at. They might not have finished it by the morning.”

She waited for a response, but one didn’t come. Tom stared out at the pig pen. Hermione watched as he was lost in thought, coming up with possible solutions a mile a minute. She knew she was an intelligent girl, but Tom was terrifying with the amount of scenarios he could think through. 

“We won’t bring the whole body,” Tom murmured after a few minutes. He looked at Hermione, his eyes a burning coal. “We won’t bring the whole body. We’ll remove the hands and anything else that’ll make the person easily identifiable and toss that into the pen. The rest of it we’ll bury out in the woods. No one goes that deep, but if someone happens to stumble upon the body, they won’t be able to identify the body.”

Hermione looked at Tom. She thought through the steps of what he suggested, thought about the details of  _ removing _ someone’s hands (and probably their teeth). They’d be feeding pigs peoples’ hands silently in the middle of the night. The thought had her nauseous, but it also made her heart pound. It was genius. Tom was a genius. If they could pull this off, no one would ever catch them.

Slowly, Hermione nodded. She couldn’t miss the animalistic hunger in Tom’s eyes. “That sounds perfect,” she told him gently. She placed her hand on his and squeezed it. “You found a way to make it all work.”

“We did it,” Tom corrected her. “You brought up the pigs. I hadn’t heard about that Macnair man.” He turned his hand over and gave her hand a squeeze back. “Ready to head home?”

Hermione gave him a small nod and Tom guided her away from the farm and back into their woods, into the land that would become their domain, their hunting grounds. The land they were the gods of. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interest, I've started making moodboards to go with the fic and have been posting them on my tumblr at a-lover-still. See you all this weekend!


	6. Monsters in the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi folks. Sorry I'm late with the update, but life has been a bit busy. I should still have an update for you this Wednesday! Thank you to everyone reading and commenting and leaving kudos. I appreciate you all so much. Shout out to Zee for being my alpha, beta, sibling, best friend, and fellow dork. Hope you all enjoy this chapter!

**Chapter Five - Monsters in the Dark**

As summer was getting closer to an end, so was their research. They had grown tired of watching  _ Forensic Files _ and had moved on to spending their evenings watching various true crime documentaries. Each one told them a similar scenario: a murder was committed, the body was hidden or disposed of, and eventually the murderer was caught. It was hard for Tom or Hermione to find the content interesting when they knew how not to be the idiot in the show. They knew how not to get caught. Between the two of them, they had a brilliant plan hatched. There was no concern or worry about the disposal methods. 

There were only a few aspects left for Hermione to fret over, but those thoughts kept her up at night. She found herself staring at the ceiling of her roof, searching for patterns in the popcorn shadows to ease her worries. They knew how they were going to choose a victim and how to get rid of the body, but that was only the beginning and the end of the process. There was the entire middle of it all that was left undefined.

Hermione let out a frustrated sigh into the night. She hated not being able to fall asleep when she wanted to. It was easily one of her biggest pet peeves. Lying restless in bed felt like a waste of time, valuable time she could be spending planning details of Tom’s murders before the school year came about. He had become so smug, so confident about it all and she worried that could lead to a mistake. The best way to counter that was to plan  _ better _ . 

Giving up on sleep, Hermione sat up. She climbed out of bed and tugged on the pale, blue cotton shorts that matched the tank top she had on. Silently, Hermione slipped out into the dark hallway she had been so afraid of when she was a child. How naive she had been to be afraid of monsters, of creatures hiding in the dark of night, when the real danger in the house was her brother and herself. She knew better now, knew she belonged out in that hallway with the creaking floorboards and the shifting shadows more than any creature she had ever imagined. If she was helping Tom, did that make her just as bad as him?

Hermione opened Tom’s door slowly. She was greeted by dark eyes and a neon clock that read ‘1:17 AM’. She met his glare with a half-smile and closed the door behind her. There, she stood, just looking at Tom as he laid in bed. 

“Do you know what time it is?” he inquired before shifting to the side on his bed. Begrudgingly, he held up his sheet and Hermione crawled in next to him.

It was natural, sleeping next to Tom. Whenever Hermione had had nightmares after he had moved in, she had gone to him for comfort instead of her mother. They had been found again and again holding each other in the early morning by Jean, who was wondering why her daughter's bed was empty. The frequency had decreased over time, but Tom’s bed was still Hermione’s safe space. Tom was her safe space.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and she curled up against his side. Hermione let out a heavy sigh she hadn’t known she was holding and looked up at Tom’s face. His defined features were only illuminated by the neon green light from his clock, giving him an eerie look. The light highlighted his sharp cheekbones and his well-carved jaw. Tom got most of his looks from his father, but Hermione was certain Tom was the most gorgeous man that had ever walked the Earth. 

“Do you want to tell me what’s on your mind?” Tom asked. He seemed present, but the tinges of sleep could be heard in his voice. She liked Tom like this, half awake and not as quick with his wit or defenses. Like this, he was more likely to be honest without hesitation, without considering the consequences. She liked the version of Tom that came out at night.

Hermione found his eyes and looked into them before speaking. “How long have you had these murder details planned?” Her voice was calm and steady. The only sign that Tom had been taken aback was the slight raise of one eyebrow. He eyed her, seeming to consider his answer. “Remember,” Hermione murmured, “we don’t lie.”

Tom let out an irritated sigh slowly. “Years. I plan the details out when other students daydream. Instead of thinking about college and dating and my future, I plan out killing people. I’ve had years to think this stuff through.” He paused, hoping that was enough information. When Hermione simply blinked at him, he continued with obvious irritation. “I told you I’ve always thought about killing. I’ve thought about blood and violence in an abstract form for ages, but I started making concrete plans in middle school. Lots of them are useless and wouldn’t work. I came up with plans, worked through scenarios. I might not have had any viable disposal methods to use here in town, but I put together ideas like the location—our building.

“There was always more to think about,” he explained. “Classes are boring and I always have excess time to plan. I know how I’ll do it. I know what supplies we should buy. You’ve been planning on how to make this foolproof, but I’ve been planning how to make it enjoyable.”

Tom stared at her with his charcoal eyes, still waiting for her to flee. He sounded excited—eager even—to start his new hobby. He’d spent years planning this; Hermione was the new one to it all. She hadn’t been able to sleep because of this, but he had it all down. It was what  _ helped  _ him sleep at night.

“So you had thought about that building before a few weeks ago?” Hermione asked him quietly. Tom nodded and she swallowed, trying to remove the large lump in her throat. “What else don’t I know? I need to be in on all of it so I can be helpful. You mentioned supplies? What do we need to buy?”

Tom looked down at her, searching her eyes for something. After another long moment, he gave her a smile. “I’ll show you the list tomorrow and we can start shopping for it. I’ve been setting aside birthday and chore money for this. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” Gently, he tucked some of her curls behind her ears. “For now, get some sleep, Hermione. Tomorrow will be a long day.”

It was there Hermione slept, her head on Tom’s chest and his arms wrapped tightly around her. She slept just as well as she always had next to him. 

—

“You brought me to Lowe’s?” Hermione hissed at Tom as they stood in the parking lot. He had asked to borrow their mother’s car and now they were standing on the sweltering hot asphalt of the town’s only Lowe’s. “Do you know how absolutely stupid this is? Every murderer  _ ever  _ goes to a hardware store! Might as well tattoo it on your forehead, you dimwit!” She went to whack her brother’s arm, but Tom was quicker. He caught her wrist and sent her a glare. Silenced, she pulled her wrist back and stopped talking. 

“We have no other options,” he informed her. “This is the only store that sells tarps and plastic sheets in town and we’re going to need them. No one is going to think anything of it. We’re two star students taking up some experiment or construction project to finish the summer out. Do you understand me?” Tom’s eyes burned into hers and she nodded stiffly. “Perfect.”

Together, the two siblings walked into the store and grabbed one of the blue shopping carts. Tom pulled a well-worn list from his pocket and they started. They did get items like tarps, rope, and a hammer, but Tom also assured they threw in other things as well. They spent at least ten minutes inspecting the various paint swatches and grabbed a few each. Hermione tossed some PVC piping into their cart and a little potted succulent. Once they had Tom’s entire Murder Shopping List, they went upfront to self checkout and paid for it all. 

“See, it wasn’t that bad,” he told her with a smug smile as they walked through the parking lot. “Now, if I was buying shovels, cement, and barrels? That would've been a huge red light.”

Hermione let out a disgruntled huff. “I might come back to get that just for you,” she muttered to herself. She stopped abruptly, eyes wide as half-dollars once she realized what she had said. Tom had stopped a moment after her, his back to her. “Oh my God, Tom, I’m so sorry.” The words spewed out of her mouth. “I didn’t—“

Laughter interrupted her apology. Tom looked back over his shoulder and he had his real smile on. His eyes looked half-crazed, but he was laughing nonetheless. “I didn’t think you had that in you,” he chuckled. He kept moving forward with the cart, waving for her to follow. She did. “Maybe you’re more like me than you realized.”

—

Tom drove them as close to the building as he could. It took two trips, but they carried all their supplies in. The rundown shelter hadn’t changed since Hermione’s first trip there. Light leaked through the ceiling and illuminated the interior for them. She dropped the second round of bags on the ground and glanced around.

“Should this place have a name?” Hermione asked. “I mean, can we keep saying ‘let’s go out to the old building’ for long? I mean,” she paused, “I guess we shouldn’t be talking about it at all.”

He smirked at her and knelt down by the bags. He started to sort through them. “I named it when I found it,” Tom chuckled. “I called it my Chamber of Secrets.” Expectantly, he looked up at his sister.

Hermione didn’t disappoint. Laughter burst through her. “Alright, edgelord,” she chortled. “No need to be so dramatic.” It was especially funny because she was half certain he wanted to keep the name. “Let’s just call it Home Base, okay? Simple,  _ not creepy _ .”

“You’re boring,” Tom informed her blandly. He grabbed the bundles of rope and headed over to the cabinets that were still intact. Carefully, he opened them and began placing supplies neatly inside. “What’s the fun in all this if there’s no dramatics?”

“‘Fun’?” Hermione snorted. “You’re the one having fun here, Tom, not me.”

Hermione watched Tom shake his head at her before coming back for the tarps. He neatly unpackaged each and stacked them one on top of another inside a different cabinet. She patiently waited for him to finish. When he walked back, he locked eyes with Hermione and her breath caught. Why was he angry?

“Hermione,” Tom began. His voice came out low, more of a rumble than anything else. “If you pin this all on me one more time, I’m going to throttle you.” He walked towards her slowly and it was everything Hermione could do to keep from backing up. Her instincts told her to  _ flee _ , to put distance between her and the predator her brother had turned into. Tom stopped two feet in front of her, his eyes dark as night. “Do you understand?”

“No,” she replied in a weak whisper. She tried to muster up some confidence, but there was none to be found. “I don’t understand.” Hermione looked up at her brother and felt her throat tighten. This was the real Tom as well—the Tom she liked to forget about at times. This Tom was hers just as much as the one with the handsome, genuine smile. The good always comes with some bad. “You’re the killer here, Tom. I’m just the cleaning crew.”

Tom let out one loud, harsh laugh. “‘Cleaning crew’?” he repeated and took one more step towards her. “The cleaning crew doesn’t pick out who  _ we _ kill. They don’t plan on being there, witnessing the act. They don’t assist in the dismemberment of hands and the burying of bodies in the woods.” Tom leaned down so that his mouth was at the shell of her ear. His breath tickled her skin, a sensation that was juxtaposed to the fear in her gut. “I might be the psychopath, but you’re going to be just as guilty as me, baby sis.”

Slowly, Tom stroked the back of her head, his fingers playing with her unruly curls. Hermione’s eyes were stuck open, staring into his shoulder. She let out a long breath, pulling out every ounce of air in her lungs.  _ He was right _ .

Hermione quickly took a step back from Tom, pushing him away by the shoulders. “We have more to do before it gets dark,” she told him, looking down at their supplies. Hermione couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes. “We need to get back to work if we want this finished today.”

She heard Tom let out another laugh, but this one was quieter. “Of course. Let’s get working.” There was amusement in his voice, verging on mockery.

Returning to their supplies, the two put the rest of their haul away. Everything had a place, even if it was the distraction purchase of PVC pipes leaning against the wall. Between the two neat freaks, the organization of supplies was a breeze. Tom pulled an old wooden chair from the wreckage of the building and set it in the middle of the room. It made the entire place feel eerie. Hermione didn’t need to ask what it was for.

“We’re almost done,” Hermione relented. Her eyes were locked on the sole chair. It made the room look like a scene straight out of a horror film.  _ I guess this will be someone’s worst nightmare.  _ “I guess I only really have one question left.”

Tom had been on the other side of the room, stashing away the plastic grocery bags. He made his way to her and put an arm around her shoulder. She let out a sigh and leaned into his touch without thinking. “And what is it, Hermione?”

Hermione kept staring at the chair as if it would give her the courage to speak, give her the bravery to finish their summer to do list.

“What are we using to kill people?”

The words came out easy once she opened her mouth. She’d never thought such a sentence would leave her mouth--but then again, who expects to become their brother’s keeper?

“That’s easy. I told you I had most of this planned,” he recalled for her. “This was the first thing I thought of. I stole a hunting knife from the Big 5 across from Lowe’s when I was your age.” Hermione snapped her head up and frowned at Tom as he spoke.

“Oh, as if stealing is the worst thing I’ve done.” Tom rolled his eyes at her. “I haven’t gotten to use it yet, but it’ll be perfect for this.”

Hermione closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath before speaking again. When she was ready, she slowly opened her eyes and looked back up at her brother. “That works,” she conceded, “but I’d like it if we had more than one weapon on us during something so dangerous. I don’t like the idea of being unarmed. Whoever it is could fight back.”

Tom eyed her. It was clear he hadn’t thought about her safety during the actual killing. All his mockery aside, he hadn’t considered Hermione needed protection.

“I’ll bring my metal baseball bat out here next time we come,” he told her coolly. There had been a phase in middle school where Jean had tried to convince Tom to play baseball; it had been a mess. “Nobody will notice it missing.”

That seemed to satisfy Hermione. She gave him a nod before glancing around the room one more time. “Besides that, is there really nothing else we need?”

“Not that I can think of,” Tom admitted. They had his father’s old camping lanterns ready with new batteries to provide light if it got dark during the act. They had tarps, plastic, lots of rope, duct tape, and some other assorted tools as a precaution. Neither of them could find anything they were missing.

“Let’s go home,” Hermione murmured wearily. “This day was a lot more exhausting than I thought it would be.”

Tom leaned over and pressed a kiss to her temple. It brought a smile to her lips. “Whatever you want,” he promised her.


	7. Chapter Six: Phony Gods and Teenage Boys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello folks. I'm really excited about this chapter. I wanted to let you all know I might slow down to once a week updates, but I'll still be writing and posting. I really hope you all enjoy this chapter as much as I did.

With the end of summer came the start of school. Hermione’s freshman year at Hogwarts High hadn’t been easy. The content was nothing; she passed her classes with flying colors. The difficult part of starting high school was going to the same school as Tom again. Hermione and Tom hadn’t attended the same school since they were both in elementary school. There, Tom was the new student, he was the one that followed Hermione around and met her friends. When he had gone off to junior high, she had had to learn how to stand on her own. By the time she had gotten to junior high herself, Tom was off starting high school. They had their own friends, their own circles.

Then, Hermione arrived at high school. Tom wanted her back by his side everyday. He couldn’t fathom why she wouldn’t want to spend every lunch with him instead of with her own friends. For Tom, it was time he had everything. He could have his friends and his sister by his side, but for Hermione, it didn’t work. Her friends began to hate Tom and all the attention he demanded of her. Freshman year had quickly become a tug-of-war between them and her brother. Even when the year had come to an end, Hermione still hadn’t found a solution.

She didn’t have a solution now either.

“Aye, ‘Mione!” a familiar red-headed boy greeted her as she entered her first class of the year. Ron Weasley and her had a tumultuous friendship. He easily took her help in school for granted and Hermione was easy to anger around him. “We got English together!” Ron grinned at her and nodded for her to sit next to him, which she did. English together just meant another class he could copy off of her this year. Another class Tom could hold against her.

“How was your summer?” Hermione asked politely. Her goal for the year was to keep everyone at a polite arm’s distance. If they didn’t expect anything from her, she wouldn’t be stuck in any ridiculous drama. Tom  _ needed _ her more this year than ever. She didn’t have time for high school drama.

“It was good.” Ron shrugged. “I got to go visit my brother Bill and his fiancee. They let me stay with them for a few weeks!” He was obviously happy at the fact that he had gotten a break from his siblings. “What about you?”

“Oh, I--”

Before she could finish, a set of arms wrapped around her tightly from behind. Panic set in first, but Hermione swallowed down the inappropriate reaction and looked up at the person connected to them. Standing behind her was a boy with unseemly messy, black hair and a warm smile. He was Harry Potter, the other friend that caused Hermione the most trouble.

“Hi, ‘Mione!” He greeted her eagerly and took the open seat on the other side of her. “It’s been so long! How’ve you been? How was summer? You were so busy all of it; we never got to see you.”

Hermione smiled at him, not missing a beat. “I know, I’m so sorry.” She gave him a sad half-smile. “My online college courses took way more time than I thought they would,” she lied smoothly.  _ Just like Tom _ , she told herself. “I thought I’d be able to make time, but it just never worked out.”

“That’s alright.” She hated lying to someone who was so pleasant. “Maybe we’ll see you more this year. I know it’s your brother’s last year, but I was thinking--”

A throat cleared at the front of the room, cutting Harry off. Hermione considered thanking God for the interruption, but if there was one, she didn’t think he’d be too happy with her.

\--

“Ron Ron!” screeched an over-the-top, feminine voice. Hermione held in her groan and checked to see if she had packed her headache medicine in her new backpack. 

Hermione watched in horrible slow motion as Lavender Brown ran down the hallway and threw herself at her boyfriend. Ron wrapped his arms around Lavender’s waist, catching her as she threw her own arms around his neck. Instantly, their wet mouths found each other and started doing what Hermione could only assume was an imitation of kissing. It was wet and audible and she could feel the oatmeal she had for breakfast churn in her stomach.

Harry placed a soothing hand on Hermione’s upper arm. She turned to him and he smiled at her as if to say “ _ it’s okay, I hate it, too _ ”. The issue was, she didn’t want his hand on her arm. If Tom came down the hallway and saw Harry touching her, he’d turn murderous.

_ I guess that actually holds some worth now. _

Hermione wasn’t sure she wanted Harry’s soothing touches anymore. They’d grown closer over the past year as both of them endured the atrocity before them, but now it felt wrong. She moved her arm and his hand returned to his side--where it belonged.

“It’s been so long!” Lavender cried out once her lips were pried off of Ron’s face. “I thought I’d die if I didn’t see you soon.”

Ron set her back on her feet and took her hands in his. “It’s only been a month, babe. I’m right here, don’t worry.” He cooed to her as if she were a baby and Hermione swore she was about to lose control. It was disgusting.

“Hello, Lavender,” Hermione said loudly in hopes of interrupting the graphic scene before her. Truly, she was trying to save everyone in the hallway.

Lavender took the interference the same way she took everything from Hermione: as a threat.

“Hello there, Hermione,” she replied, the venom in her voice blatant. Hermione had to keep herself from rolling her eyes. “Thought you’d be off somewhere with that freak brother of yours.”

Hermione took a deep breath and pushed her anger down deep inside of her. She put on a practiced smile. “Tom isn’t a freak, thank you.”

“Sure.” Lavender smiled at her and turned her attention back to Ron. “I’ll see you later, Ron Ron. I’ll be counting the minutes until I see you again!” She placed a wet kiss on his lips and then hurried off to her next class. 

“That was disgusting,” Hermione stated openly. Ron shot her a dirty look. 

“You can’t talk about her like that this year,” Ron snapped at her. “It really hurt her last year when you talked shit about—“

“Me?” Hermione asked incredulously. “I only started saying things after she wouldn’t stop taking cracks at my brother, Ron. You get her in control and I’ll shut my mouth.” With that, Hermione stomped off to her next class that was—thankfully—without the two boys. 

—

The best part of school was always lunch. Hermione was a fan of learning, but she loved seeing Tom. Sitting through class with the people who were supposed to be her peers made her feel isolated. She didn’t have a single equal in any of her classes; she never had. Her only equal was Tom.

Unlike most of the students who ate in the outside cafeteria, Tom and his friends sat in an empty hallway with their lunches. Hermione went to the same spot they had eaten at the year prior and sat down next to Tom. He didn’t look up from the book on his lap, but his shoulders relaxed once Hermione took her rightful spot.

“Welcome back,” Severus murmured as Hermione got situated. Severus was an odd guy, but she didn’t mind him much. He was the most tamed of Tom’s friends. With long black hair that seemed to always need to be washed and a crooked nose, Severus watched her with a curious look. He seemed to always be analyzing her, trying to understand why she was allowed so much leniency with Tom.

The people who thought they were Tom’s peers idolized her brother. Tom was the smartest boy in school, maybe even smarter than some of their teachers. He was expected to be accepted into any college he applied to with ease. The guy was handsome, he was smart, and he was always slightly...off. Even Hermione had heard the rumors spread in hushed voices. Everyone knew not to set Tom off, not to cross him. The consequence was never made clear; he had never been accused of anything directly. The other students simply feared him.

Hermione knew that was why Severus assessed their relationship. If even his friends stepped out of place, fear ran through their veins, but his sister could get away with murder around him.

_ If only he knew the truth _ .

“Hello, Severus,” Hermione replied politely and smiled at the greasy teen. “Have a nice summer?”

Severus shrugged. “Spent it away at science camp.” While she appreciated that Severus was the least unruly of Tom’s friend, she wished dearly that he didn’t speak in a slow, monotonous tone that made everything he said blur together. “It was nice to finally get the recognition I deserved. I was the lead camp counselor this summer.”

Tom let out a snort, not even bothering to look up from his book. “Yes, I can imagine the recognition one gets from snot-nosed children must give you a real high.”

Hermione fought a smile and watched Severus’s skin turn to a shade paler, which she hadn’t thought possible. “Leave him be, Tom,” she chided her brother. “You meant Lily, right?” She gave Severus a knowing look. “Was she one of the counselors this year, too? Did you finally get to tell her how you felt?”

To her surprise, the tip of his ears turned red. “Yes,” was all he managed to say.

“Sounds like Severus has a girlfriend,” drawled one of the boys sitting across the hall from her. Hermione held in her sigh as she tried to ignore her least favorite of Tom’s friends: Lucius. Lucius constantly wanted all of Tom’s attention. He wanted Tom to come over every day after school, wanted to bring him on family vacations, wanted to be best buddies and Hermione hated it.

“More than you’ve got,” Hermione muttered. She caught a glimpse of Tom’s cheek twitching in the corner of her eye. If they couldn’t hang out with her friends, she wished they would dump his friends, too. It only seemed fair.

“Someone’s in a mood.” The guy next to Lucius spoke. He was bigger than Lucius’s lean build. His name was Antonin and--while he was dumber than Tom’s other friends--he was the only one that ever made Hermione feel uncomfortable. Lucius looked like some sort of rejected Tolkien elf prince, but Antonin looked like a villain from a fairytale. His face was dark and twisted. He had a look in his eyes that made Hermione feel unsettled.

“Don’t start with me.” Hermione pulled her sandwich out of her bag. “Stupid Ron Weasley and his stupid girlfriend, Lavender Brown.” She took a rather aggressive bit of her lunch.

Tom looked up from his book to watch her. “Did she do anything to you?” His words were careful and calculated. Hermione sent him a meaningful look.

“No, she didn’t.”

Tom turned his attention back to his book and shook his head. “Whatever you say, sister.”

\--

The first week of school could’ve been worse, but it still was pretty awful. Hermione ended each school day with Physical Education, a required class that Lavender was also in. It was the only class they had together and they had it without the boys; there was no Ron to buffer them. 

Hermione had been waiting for something to go wrong. She did her best to steer clear of Lavender simply for the sake of her own sanity. The idea of having to maintain a conversation with her was awful enough that Hermione put in the extra effort it took to avoid her. 

The issue with avoiding someone is they have to let you--to an extent. Hermione tried her best to stay away from Lavender, but Lavender didn’t let her. When Hermione chose a locker, Lavender chose one in the same aisle. When Hermione chose a running pace, Lavender tried to match with her. Instead of avoiding her, Hermione began to actively  _ run _ away from Lavender.

Hermione purposely lingered as she changed out of her athletic clothes. Her hope was that Lavender would be gone by the time she was done. Instead, in the mostly empty locker room, a set of hands touched Hermione’s bare back as she was pulling her shirt over her head. With her vision blocked and her arms contained, the shove those hands delivered threw her against the metal lockers with a  _ bang _ ! Her head had slammed against the cool metal, instantly causing a throbbing headache.

Disoriented and blinded by her shirt still, Hermione quickly pulled it down enough to see past the fabric. Her arms were still stuck as she was focusing on righting her footing, but perfectly in her line of vision was a smug Lavender Brown. With a few jerking motions, Hermione pulled her arms free and tugged her shirt down.

“What the  _ fuck _ is wrong with you?” Hermione demanded. Her head hurt worse as she spoke. She’d have a headache all evening because of that bitch. The remaining girls in the locker room snuck glances at them both before hurrying out.  _ Cowards _ .

“You’re what’s wrong with me,” Lavender spat. Her anger was radiating off of her, that stupid, smug smile still on her face.

Assessing the situation, Hermione wasn’t sure she could win if their confrontation turned into a fight. Lavender only had an inch or two on her, but Lavender was on the girls’ soccer team. Hermione knew for a fact that she wasn’t as strong Lavender if they were just using their hands. That along with her head aching, she knew she was done for. Where was Tom when she needed him?

“I haven’t done shit to you,” Hermione snapped. “So what has you all pissed off?”

“I know you’ve been trying to get between me and Ron.”  _ Ron and I _ . “He tells me--you know--when you talk shit about me.”

That was going to be an issue. She didn’t expect any sort of loyalty from Ron  _ fucking _ Weasley, but she couldn’t have him causing her trouble. 

“Yeah, Lavender, I shit-talked you.” Hermione shrugged. “Your precious Ron Ron told me to shut up and I did. It’s been done since the first day of school. I’ve kept my mouth shut. The least you can do is learn how to keep your  _ fucking  _ hands to yourself.” She could feel herself shaking with anger. She didn’t use to get this anger, not before she’d started spending more time with Tom. Hermione wasn’t a fan of anger; she liked control and anger was an uncontrollable beast.

Lavender let out a laugh that could only be labeled ‘mean’. Hermione reached back into her open locker slowly. “This is just a warning that you remember not to let my name leave your mouth again.” 

“Loud and clear,” Hermione snorted. Oh so slowly, her hand found a loose pencil. She needed to be ready if Lavender didn’t keep her hands to herself.. It would be self-defense.

“That’s what I thought.” Lavender smiled. She sounded so proud of herself, proud that she had won their little confrontation, that she had come out on top.

Lavender walked away, leaving Hermione alone in the quiet.

\--

The instant Tom got home from Chess Club, Hermione was on him. She had been in their living room, lying in wait. When the front door had opened, she leapt up and grabbed his wrist.

“Room. Now.”

Without any more explanation, Hermione dragged Tom back to his bedroom. She knew that if he had an actual issue with it, he could have stopped her at any point. If he was unhappy with her demands, with how she spoke to him, he could’ve just dug his heels in and they would still be back in the living room. But Tom hadn’t and now they were behind his locked bedroom door.

“Is everything alright?” Tom asked cooly, but Hermione could hear a drop of concern in his voice. He calmly set his backpack by his desk, in its spot. When he turned back around, Hermione was holding up her bangs. She watched as his eyes first widened, and then narrowed into slits. His eyes were locked onto a dark red splotch on the upper right part of her forehead. A spot Hermione knew would be a bruise tomorrow morning; a spot Lavender had given her.

Tom was suddenly in Hermione’s space, his fingertips brushing the skin of her forehead so lightly she almost couldn’t tell. Hermione had never seen something so close to concern on Tom’s face. It was quickly overtaken by what could only be described as an immense rage. He pulled his fingers away and with one hand, he lifted her chin so he could look directly into her eyes. 

“Who?”

Hermione knew saying her name was a death sentence. If she gave a name, Tom would kill her. There was nothing left to discuss. This was him pulling his trump card, his I’m-the-big-brother card, his final decision. If Hermione told him who hurt her, they’d have their first victim. 

Tom’s eyes were pitch black. She held his burning gaze and she felt something in her shift. The Hermione she was a year ago would’ve told him he was being outrageous. In the present, the anger in his eyes soothed her. It made up for her horrible headache and the unbearable embarrassment she felt. It offered her vengeance, respect, anything she wanted. Tom would always give her anything she wanted. 

“Lavender Brown.”


	8. Chapter Seven: The Life of a Stalker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back everyone! So we are definitely moving to once a week updates as I am getting to grittier scenes, but this just means the content you're getting is more plot focused. The set-up is almost done and now we're here! Thank you for your patience and sweet comments.
> 
> Extra shout out to my beta Zee for taking the time to still beta this week even though they are in their finals week! I love you, kid!

Originally, Hermione hadn’t planned to be involved in the actual plotting of Tom’s murders. She was supposed to approve of the victim and be company to assure he didn’t lose himself in the excitement of it all. Yet, by choosing Lavender, she had effectively attached herself to her brother’s illness in a way she had never planned.

“Is this necessary?” Hermione asked with a heavy sigh. She stood outside their high school, Tom just to her left. Her brother gave her a side glance that said it all. He hadn’t been a fan of her hesitation after she’d taken the initiative to offer up a name.

“Of course it is,” he hissed quietly. “Figure out where she lives and anything else you can.” 

Tom’s plan was to stalk Lavender. They would learn everything they could about the stupid girl, find the weakness in her routine, and strike then. Hermione hadn’t expected any of the murdering aspects to be  _ easy,  _ but she wasn’t supposed to be planning how to kidnap a girl. She had given Tom the tools to prepare for it just fine on his own. She wasn’t the murderer; why did she need to stalk Lavender as well?

“Fine.” She sent one final glare toward her brother before setting off into the school and away from him. Stalking Lavender meant spending lunches away from Tom. It was just another way for Lavender to take her brother away from her. Between that and the locker incident, Hermione was furious.

She adjusted her bangs. They covered her forehead and hid the bruise. As a backup, Tom had gone with her to purchase foundation to conceal the bruise. It was hidden well, but it was still very sensitive to touch.

Despite the fact that Hermione hated that Tom wanted her to help, she was so glad he was going to kill that bitch.

\--

“Oh no,” Hermione groaned. She was in her first period, sitting between Harry and Ron as always. Both boys looked at her in confusion. “I left my notes from Friday at home. I’m sorry, boys.”

Ron let out a defeat sigh, much to Hermione’s pleasure. “Fuck! If I’m going to pass McGongagall’s exam tomorrow, I need those notes, ‘Mione.” He looked at her with his big, blue eyes and began trying to guilt her.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Harry insisted. “We can borrow...Neville’s! I’m sure he took decent ones.”

Ron sent Harry a skeptical look. “When has Neville ever taken legible notes?”

“It’s not Hermione’s job to take notes for you, R--”

“Boys,” Hermione quickly cut them off.  _ Since when was Harry not trying to use her for school work?  _ The boys had been out of class Friday at an away football game and Hermione had promised to bring them each a copy of her notes. They’d surely fail without them. “How about I swing by your places after school and bring them to you?”

“That’d be great, ‘Mione.” Harry gave her a big grin as a ‘thank you’, an over the top smile he’d usually use for talking about sports or...well, sports.

“That doesn’t work for me,” Ron mumbled. Hermione looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “I’m at Lav’s today after school. We always hang out at her place on Tuesdays.”

“That’s okay,” Hermione replied quickly. “If you give me her address, I’ll just stop by really quick and drop them off.” She gave him a warm smile. “You asked me to try with her, right?”

Ron blinked and nodded. “Yeah! That’d be great! Thank you, ‘Mione. You’re really saving my ass, you know that?” He quickly scrawled down Lavender’s address in a barely legible handwriting. Hermione neatly tucked it away in her binder, smiling to herself. Maybe this wouldn’t be so hard.

\--

Hermione didn’t have much time to spend with Lavender at school, so she gave up her lunch to stalk her. Or rather, to spend time with her.

She sat down next to Harry at the table they all claimed in the cafeteria. It was easy to understand why Tom and his friends avoided the room. It was loud and chaotic. The teens moved like ants throughout the rooms, constantly switching spots, always talking. Students were shouting at each other, laughing loudly, speaking with their mouths full. It was overwhelming. She couldn’t imagine looking forward to sitting at a sticky table with boys who usually smelled a little like body odor while eating her sandwich. She missed Tom immediately. None of these people were anything like him. 

“Hey!” Harry greeted her with wide eyes. He was smiling yet again--a bit too much for her liking. “Man, I never thought you’d join us.” His smile was lopsided and jovial. Hermione imagined it made a lot of girls their age giggle, but it just made her uncomfortable. He patted the spot next to him and Hermione sat down.

“I thought I’d sit with you today.” She kept her tone calm and level. There was no need for everyone to be so overexcited.

“Sitting with us instead of your brother?” Hermione didn’t even need to look away from Harry to know it was Lavender talking. She could tell by the annoying voice and the not-so-subtle implication she put into her words.

Hermione turned to Lavender and gave her a practiced smile. “It would appear so.” She sat down and pulled out her sandwich. It took all her willpower to bite her tongue and not be rude. Being rude would make her stand out more and she needed to blend into the background to stalk someone.

Lavender rolled her eyes. “Did he give you the boot finally?” She snickered. “No senior--brother or not--is going to want you hanging around.”

“Knock it off,” Harry muttered. He looked up and exchanged a look with Ron.

Apparently it held some worth because Ron wrapped his arm around Lavender. “Hey, baby, go easy on her.” He gave her a dopey smile that made Hermione want to vomit. “There’s no need to make fun of my friend, okay?” 

Lavender looked mildly displeased, but nodded and leaned against her awkward boyfriend.

After a long moment of quiet, Harry cleared his throat. “So, anyone got plans this weekend?”

Ron snorted. “We’ve got a game.”

“I’ll be there, cheering from the stands,” Lavender reminded Ron dramatically. She looked up at him through her eyelashes and he blushed.

“Oh, is it a home game?” Hermione genuinely sounded intrigued and for that she was grateful. She could work with that.

“Yeah. You gonna come watch?” Harry grinned at her. “I’ll be playing.” He nudged her with his elbow. Ron was watching them with interested eyes. Harry had never asked her to come watch a game before, but the timing of him asking was helpful.

“I might stop by,” she told him politely.

“Cool.” 

\--

Tom was impressed with Hermione’s work. He was pleased she had managed to get Lavender’s address without them following her home. He even took the time to give her praise, which Hermione beamed at.

“Now, we have some errands to run.”

“‘We’?” Hermione repeated with raised eyebrows. “ _ I  _ have to bring the boys my notes. When did you become part of this plan.”

“When you give Ron his notes, I need you to keep him and Lavender busy for a moment.”

Hermione didn’t like the expression on Tom’s face. Or rather, the look in his eyes. His face was perfectly blank, tamed by years of practice. His eyes gave him away. He looked excited, mischievous, deviant. It was a look she didn’t trust on her brother’s face.

“What are you going to do?” Hermione demanded.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Tom told her slyly. He pulled on one of his beautiful smiles; a smile meant for convincing.

“Oh, cut the shit.” She rolled her eyes at him. “Tell me what you’re doing so I know how long to distract them.”

Tom sighed. “You’re no fun,” he muttered. “I’m going to break in and sneak into her room. Maybe I’ll find something useful.”

The way his eyes lit up as he explained his plan was unsettling. Hermione expected to have adjusted to the fact that her brother was into murder at that point, but little things kept catching her by surprise. Seeing him eager to break into someone’s house and rifle through their belongings sent chills down her spine. That wasn’t the Tom she thought she had known.

But the truth was, she had been the dishonest one. Tom had shown her who he was when she was seven. She chose to ignore that and think up this brother who was  _ good _ . Hermione idolized a brother who did good deeds, but that brother did not exist. He hadn’t sold that lie to her. He gave it out willingly to everyone else, but never once had he told her he was a good person. She should have known better by now. There was no reason for her to still be getting surprised.

Hermione nodded slowly. “Just be quick. She’s not a fan of staying around me.”

They headed out together, two copies of her notes in her bag. The first was the real chore; stopping at Harry’s was the cost of getting Lavender’s address. Hermione led the way as they entered another nice, middle class neighborhood. She knew enough about Harry from middle school to know she wasn’t allowed to ask for him at the front door. Quietly, Hermione slipped down the side yard and knocked on a window. Tom was sending her a curious look, but she just shook her head.

Not a second later, the curtains parted and Harry’s smiling face appeared. The lock clicked and he pushed the window open.

“Hey, ‘Mione,” Harry greeted her excitedly. “Thanks for remembering. I knew you would.”

“Of course,” she replied simply. Hermione took off her backpack and pulled out the neat copy of notes she made for him. She had to admit, she took more time in making his notes than Ron’s. Harry always made a point to express his gratitude and actually studied them. He rarely asked to copy her homework, while Ron demanded her assistance. She still helped Ron, but his notes weren’t neatly highlighted like her own and they weren’t color-coded.

Harry glanced over the notes, flipping the page over to look at all of the contents. “Thank you so much.” He gave her his warmest smile and, for a moment, she remembered why she was his friend. “You really are saving my ass,” he admitted to her. “I shouldn’t be in that English Honors class. You know me, I can do all that other stuff, but English?” He shook his head. “I only passed last year because of your help.”

“Maybe you should learn how to do something on your own then.” The cool words left Tom’s mouth smoothly. They were a reminder that he was there, something Hermione had almost forgotten for a second. Harry looked startled, as if he hadn’t even noticed Tom’s presence the entire time.

“Excuse me? I do plenty on my own--”

“Tom,” Hermione quickly cut off Harry and sent her brother a pointed look. She glanced back at Harry and gave him a smile. “We’re going to be on our way. I still need to get all the way over to Lavender’s.”

Harry looked away from Tom slowly and focused his attention back on Hermione. He gave her a half-smile of pity. “Sorry you’ve got to go over to her place.”

“It’s whatever,” Hermione said with a shrug. “See you tomorrow, Harry.”

Hermione led the way back to the front of Harry’s home. She had to take Tom’s wrist and pull him out of the side yard, breaking his staring contest with Harry. Once they were on the sidewalk and out of Harry’s sight, she threw his hand back at him and started walking down the street.

“Hey,” Tom called out to her in a low voice. He easily caught up to her, his strides covering much more distance than hers. “What’s with the attitude?”

Quickly, Hermione came to a full stop three houses away from where they had started. She whirled around and glared at her brother. “I am doing  _ everything _ to make you happy,” she hissed at him, “and you can’t keep your mouth shut for two minutes?”

She expected Tom to snap back at her, expected one of their screaming matches to spark, but neither happened. Tom looked  _ amused _ . He was smiling smugly down at her.

“Oh, you’re right.” His voice was heavy, fake pity dripping from his words. “You do so much all for  _ me _ .” Tom let out a snort and Hermione found herself shocked. “You need to stop pretending this is all  _ just _ for me.” He stepped closer to her, leaving only two feet of distance between their chests. It made Hermione feel vulnerable--afraid.

Why was she afraid of Tom?

“If you wanted nothing to do with this, Hermione, you wouldn’t be helping me.” His words came out quietly, his eyes boring into hers. The words were even, steady, so certain they made her skin crawl.

They made her sick.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Hermione lashed out at him. “Everything I’m doing, I’m doing for you. I do everything for you, Tom.”

He was too close, too much. They were out in the open street, but all she could focus on was him. Tom made his presence so demanding; Hermione couldn’t look away from him. She was drowning in him, in his dark eyes, in his insinuations, in his constant pushing of her boundaries. He was pushing her and she felt like a cornered animal.

“Everything I do is for you.” Her words cut through the tense air, throwing knives aimed right at him. “I spend every waking minute of my life trying to make your life as pleasant, as  _ easy  _ as possible for you, brother. If you can’t help me out and stick by my side--my side for once--in front of my friends while I’m doing something for you, how am I supposed to trust you with any of this?” She let all her frustration, all her pain seep into her words. Her hands filled the space between them, flexed as she fought her urge to push him or hit him or do anything to put some real space between them. Some real, tangible space that she needed. 

“I spend all day at school defending you to my friends. I come home and I spend all day and night finding ways to protect you from the world, from yourself.” Hermione felt hot tears well threaten to spill and she tried her best to fight them back. “Can you please, just, stop pushing? Stop pushing my friends, stop pushing me? I’m doing everything I can.”

She didn’t know what exactly “pushing” meant. She didn’t know if she was asking him to stop smart-mouthing her friends. She didn’t know if she was begging him to stop implicating her in his murderous deeds. It was always about murder and  _ her _ role in it. She just needed it to all stop--just for a little.

After an eternity, Tom nodded. “Fine.” It was all he said. He looked away from her and she felt her entire body relax. Her hands dropped, her shoulders fell, her chest untightened. She could breathe. 

“Thank you.”

\--

The walk to Lavender’s was quiet, uneventful--exactly what Hermione needed. Maybe there was only so much discussion of murder one girl could take.

Lavender’s house looked just as bland as all the other suburban homes. When they arrived at it, Tom seemed back to himself and Hermione could almost forget being afraid of him.

“Keep them busy until you see me, okay?”

Tom didn’t wait for an answer. He quietly made his way to the side yard and jumped the gate without hesitation. Trying to keep up, Hermione hurried to the front door and rang the doorbell. From where she stood, she couldn’t see the gate or side yard. All she got was a view of the corner of the house and that was it.

Tom didn’t even know which room was Lavender’s.

The front door opened and she was greeted by both Ron and Lavender. Never before had she been conflicted on whether or not to be happy or disgusted to see Lavender.

“Hey,” Hermione greeted them. She tried her best to act normal and she hoped it was working.

“Hi.” Lavender returned the greeting stiffly. She was hanging off of Ron, his arm draped across her shoulders and her arms around his waist. It was like she got her lifeforce from him.

“Sorry I forgot the notes earlier.” Hermione nervously rubbed the back of her neck. “I already went and dropped Harry’s off.” She looked up at Ron. “Vernon didn’t notice.”

Ron looked pleased at what she said, even with Lavender there to witness it. “That’s good.” He saw the confused look on Lavender’s face and then continued. “His uncle doesn’t like him having, uhh, unexpected guests, so if we have his stuff, we just sneak it to his window.”

Hermione wasn’t happy that Ron was divulging any of Harry’s private life--even an edited version--but anything that bought Tom time had to be taken advantage of.

“Exactly,” Hermione continued with a sad nod. “It was easy to come here, I mean, Ron’s just hanging out with you. I’m sorry to take up some of your hang out time with something that I forgot, but at least I was able to bring it over.”

Lavender eyed Hermione, but Ron smiled in appreciation of what she said.  _ So easy _ .

“So, where are these notes?” Lavender asked after a quiet moment, eying them both.

Hermione quickly feigned embarrassment and fumbled for her bag. “Of course, my bad.” She took a moment to dig through her bag even though she knew precisely where the notes were. Trying not to verge on looking like an idiot, she pulled out the notes and handed them to Ron. She spent even more time giving an overview of the lesson and explaining some of her notes in the margins.

“If you have any questions at all, feel free to text me,” she told Ron. “I’m already helping Harry out tonight, too,” she quickly added when Lavender sent her a dirty look. “It was a weird chapter and I honestly hate Hemingway, so, yeah.”

She shifted her weight from foot to foot. It was easily the most painful conversation Hermione had ever forced her way through. She felt herself reaching the peak of desperation; she was going to ask Lavender for boy advice.

Hermione saw Tom’s hand flash by the corner of the house and she knew she was safe.

She smiled at the couple before her. “Well, hope they help!” With that, she turned and made her way down the driveway back to the sidewalk. Lavender was whispering to Ron as the front door shut, but Hermione didn’t let that bother her at all. How could it? Lavender should get to enjoy her last few days alive. She’d get the final word later.


	9. Chapter Eight - Nobody Fucks with My Sister

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major Trigger Warnings for: violence, gore, and blood. If you aren't comfortable with any of these, I really recommend not reading this chapter.
> 
> Thank you to my beta Zee for all your hardwork! Also a huge shout out to my friends Geekiebeekie, Syrengrey, missELY, and Weestarmeggie for helping me with the wording in this chapter. Y'all are amazing.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy the chapter!

Hermione stared at herself in the mirror that sat on her bedroom desk. Never before had she been stuck with the telltale dilemma typical high school girls dealt with; she needed to pick out an outfit to wear. Tonight was an important night.

She left her face bare as usual. Hermione had never been one for makeup. She found it pretty, but she always forgot she had it on and ruined it when she rubbed her eyes. Putting effort into her looks meant doing something with her untamable curls, which always took ages. She had wrangled them back into a tight French braid, any loose curls bobby pinned in place. Gently, she patted the side of her hair, feeling the thickness of it. Hermione might not have had the make up skills or tight denim skirts Lavender had, but she loved her unruly hair. It was hers.

The last part would be the hardest. Sure, for centuries women had been plagued with the existential dread of trying to piece together appropriate, beautiful outfits for social gatherings. Her blithe was only a little different.

_ What was the appropriate attire for attending a football game and committing a murder? _

\--

Once she got to their school’s football stadium, Hermione quickly found Lavender in the stands and made her way to her. The moment Lavender saw her, Hermione could see the look of annoyance settle on her face. It was all she could do to not feel smug, to fight down the arrogance trying to fly out her mouth in biting words.

Hermione found a place next to Lavender and smiled at her as if they were actually friends. The stupid girl was in a tight denim skirt, Ron’s jersey from the previous year tied tighter, and had black paint smudged across her cheeks. She looked like an all-american girl, there to support her average boyfriend at a meaningless football game. Lavender had dressed like someone would expect a teenage girl to dress for the occasion. Hermione looked like she was attending a funeral. She was wearing black jeans that were comfortable and a black jumper. The weather station had said that late summer night would get cold and she planned her outfit strategically. Lavender’s expression made it clear what she thought of Hermione’s clothes and she felt embarrassment creep up her spine.

_ This is why you chose her. _

“Hi, Lav,” Hermione greeted her excitedly. She glanced around, checking out the football field. “I hope I haven’t missed much! My mom was running late coming home from work and she was my--”

“Whatever.” Lavender stuck her nose up. “Ron Ron’s already made one field goal. All the points on the board are from him, which is more than can be said for your boyfriend.”

Hermione choked on her spit. Her boyfriend? Who the fuck did Lavender think she was dating? It took her an entire minute to gain composure before she tried to continue the conversation. “My boyfriend?” Hermione repeated curiously.

“Oh, shut up, Hermione.” Lavender snorted. “I know why Harry invited you here. You two are banging in secret or whatev.” She shrugged. “Good for you. As long as you aren’t drooling after my Ron Ron anymore, I couldn’t care less.” She flipped some of her hair over her shoulder.

Something happened in the game that Hermione didn’t notice, but she took the time to think while the crowd lost it. Lavender cheered loudly and clapped with her hands way above her head. She shrieked Ron’s name over and over until one of the many helmets turned and waved at them.

“You caught us,” Hermione admitted, embarrassment apparent. She glanced down at her sneakers caked in mud. “Harry and I… It’s new, you know? It’s fun that it’s just between us.”

Lavender smiled at her knowingly. “Secrets are always fun.”

Hermione glanced up at Lavender. She opened her mouth to speak, but quickly caught herself and stopped, shaking her head. It was time to use what they had learned from Tom’s trip to Lavender’s room.

“Hey, what is it?” Lavender pried quickly, not missing a beat.

“Well…” Hermione looked around to make sure no one was paying attention to them. “Okay, Harry and I have this secret place we do it at, okay? We can’t at his house because, you know. Then Tom’s  _ always  _ home at mine.” She sighed dramatically. “So I found this neat old cabin out in the woods. We cleaned it up and then,” Hermione paused again and blushed, “we go have sex.”

Lavender’s eyes widened as she listened to Hermione, soaking in every detail she could. “No way!” she squealed. Suddenly, they were friends. It was as if Lavender forgot she had shoved Hermione just a week before. “That’s so smart!”

With a grin one her face, Hermione waved her off. “Oh, thanks!” She looked at Lavender for a long moment before glancing around them one final time. “Hey, it’s almost halftime, right? If you want, I can go show you the spot so you and Ron can use it.” When Lavender’s face lit up, Hermione continued. “I know things started rough between us and I want to make up for that. It’s just in the woods behind the field. We could get back before much of the game passes and maybe we can even hang out with the boys there later?” 

Hermione plastered on her most apologetic, kindest expression and Lavender lapped it up. Lavender squealed yet again and began bouncing with excitement.

“Really? Ohmygod, I would love that!” She took Hermione’s hands and squeezed them in some weird sign of friendship. “We’ve been sneaking around my place doing it and it’s so hard. He’s got all those siblings so we never get to at his place! Ohmygod, you’re a  _ lifesaver _ , Hermione!”

“It’s nothing, really, Lav,” Hermione told her kindly. “I’m just so happy I could help.”

\--

Getting Lavender out of the stadium was easy. The football players seemed to be gathered somewhere for halftime and Hermione’s biggest concern had been running into Harry after lying about fucking the guy. The fact that Lavender thought she was with Harry was an issue for a different day, a different time, a moment when her heart wasn’t racing in her chest.

Hermione kept up idle small talk with Lavender as they made their way through the woods. As the greenery got denser, Lavender began paying less attention to Hermione’s need for relationship advice. She was constantly glancing around, holding on tightly to Hermione’s hand. The girl was afraid of the woods and the last thing Hermione wanted was that fear enhancing Lavender’s senses.

“Hey,” Hermione soothed gently. “It’s okay. I know it’s pretty dark out here, but we’re almost there.” She gave her a reassuring smile when Lavender snapped her attention to her. “I’ve been out here numerous times. We’re okay. I’ve grown up in these woods. I promise I wouldn’t bring you out here if it was dangerous.”

Her words seemed to ease Lavender’s fears. Lavender swallowed hard and nodded. She rolled her shoulders as if she were trying to shake off the fear clinging to her. Her instincts were telling her she was being hunted and  _ they were right _ . The feeling of eyes on her, the gut instinct that she wasn’t safe--it was all right. She wasn’t safe and it amazed Hermione that someone could naturally know that. Hermione watched Lavender in thinly veiled awe as eons of evolution tried its best to save the stupid, all-american girl with a mean mouth next to her.

“You promise?” Lavender repeated with a squeeze of Hermione’s hand. Hermione simply nodded and continued to lead Lavender through the woods, on a path Tom had helped her memorize.

They were less than a yard away from the clearing when they could hear the cracking of branches to the left of them; the side Lavender was on. Lavender’s eyes grew to the size of half dollars and she turned to run. Hermione quickly yanked her back and Lavender stared at her incredulously.

“Someone’s here,” Lavender whispered. “We have to go!”

“That wasn’t anything,” Hermione explained, her voice the same normal volume as before. She held on as tightly as she could to Lavender’s hand. “Come on, we’re almost there.”

“No.” Lavender tried to yank her arm back yet again. “What the fuck, Hermione? Let me go!”

“No!”

Hermione tried to pull Lavender into the clearing with brute force, but she couldn’t overpower her. Lavender ripped her hand out of Hermione’s and started stumbling through the woods, away from the clearing. Hermione did the first thing she could think of; she grabbed a medium size rock by her feet--about the size of a book--and quickly chased after Lavender. Thankfully, she had the upper hand running through the darkness that she knew and Lavender did not. Hermione did her best to keep her footing over the dark ground, carefully avoiding the gnarled roots that slowed Lavender’s escape. When she was only two steps behind Lavender, Hermione swung and slammed the rock against Lavender’s head. The girl let out a loud cry and fell to the ground.

Standing over Lavender, Hermione watched her slowly drag herself away from her attacker. Loud sobs were leaving Lavender’s mouth, but no one could hear them. No one was around to save her.

“Tom!” Hermione called out loudly over her shoulder a few times. After a minute, Tom came jogging up to her from the direction of the clearing. He looked from Hermione, to the bloodied rock and down to the pathetic girl on the floor.

“Guess that plan wasn’t foolproof,” he muttered. “What the fuck happened?”

“She got startled from some animal in the trees and tried to run for it.” Hermione shrugged. “She’s still alive. I couldn’t let her leave.”

“Well, I get that,” Tom scoffed. “I’ll drag her back, you get that rock. We shouldn’t leave it out here.”

“Fine.”

Hermione kept ahold of the bloodied rock and watched in fascination as Tom hauled Lavender over his shoulder. Lavender began to struggle in his grip, but he didn’t let her slip. Hermione walked directly behind him with the rock wield in case she needed to take another swing. He held on tightly to Lavender as they entered the clearing and then their hideaway.

Inside, Tom had already set everything up for them. He had the old camping lanterns turned on, illuminating the room from the floor up. Still in the center of the room was the chair, but now it had tarps and plastic spread out underneath it. Close by was a roll of duct tape, zip ties, his knife, and her baseball bat. 

Unceremoniously, Tom dropped Lavender on the chair and quickly moved to hold her wrists together behind it. In the split second Tom grabbed her wrists, Hermione watched as realization came to Lavender’s eyes. Realization and fear and absolute confusion shone through, illuminated her muddy brown eyes and it made Hermione’s heart pound. She knelt down, grabbed a few zip ties, and assisted Tom in restraining her.

“Stop it!” Lavender shrieked sharply as they pulled the zip ties too tight, layering them over her wrists. They attached her ankles to the legs of the chair, pulled so tight on the zip ties that Hermione could see the skin strain against the cutting plastic. No blood was drawn, but the way the skin moved pulled her in, the tension turning it bone white.

“Come here.” Tom barked his order at Hermione, snapping her out of her trance. Lavender continued to shout at them, but they ignored her. Once at Tom’s side, he coolly handed her the metal bat. She took it and felt its weight in her hands, shifting the grip in her palms. It wasn’t heavy--built out of aluminum to be light--but it was solid. It felt wrong, having a light weapon. How could something so light take part in such an awful task? She hated it; she wanted it to make sense, to mean something at the least. She wanted death and murder to be poetic.

“Look at me.” His voice was quiet, the almost-soft tone she loved. Hermione looked up at her brother and met his cold, dark eyes. “Listen to me no matter what. This is it.”

Hermione blinked. “Tom,” she started, “I’m not planning on changing my mind once you start.” She glanced from Lavender to the sharp knife in Tom’s hand and back up at his eyes. “I know this wasn’t some game. I know what happens from here.”

Tom looked doubtful, but he didn’t continue the pep talk he had been about to give. “Alright.”

“Alright.” Hermione grabbed the duct tape and held it out to Tom. “Now, can you go shut her up? I can’t spend another minute of my time listening to her run her mouth.”

With an amused smile, Tom swiped the tape and prowled over to Lavender. He knelt in front of her, his back to Hermione. She couldn’t see his expression, but she imagined it was unsettling at the least if the terror in Lavender’s expression meant anything. 

“Did you hear that?” Tom asked Lavender in a quiet, mocking tone. He held his hunting knife in his dominant hand, the duct tape in the other. With the tip of the black blade, he slowly traced Lavender’s jaw. “I’d like to let you keep screaming, but what my sister asks for, my sister gets.” Tom gave Hermione a dark smile over his shoulder before turning his attention back to their guest.

“Oh god no, please,” Lavender begged, her voice a mix between a shriek and a whisper. “Please, no. No, no, no, no, no!”

She kept repeating the word, but Tom set his knife down and stood slowly. He unrolled a large piece of black duct tape slowly, letting the sound of it fill the room. He eyed it and then ripped the section off. Lavender began to shake her head quickly as she repeated her plea, hoping to dodge the tape. Tom’s hand snapped forward and grabbed a fistful of hair. He yanked her hair down, angling her face up at him. With his free hand, he slapped on the duct tape, pressing his harshly against her face.

Even from a few feet back, Hermione could see the tears on Lavender’s cheeks.

Hermione took the pause in action to yank off her black sweater. It was too hot, even for a cool night. Running through the forest had made her sweaty and now, with her system full of adrenaline, she felt claustrophobic in the long-sleeved garment. She was thankful she had worn a black tank top underneath.

“Time to get started,” Tom announced as he dusted off his hands. He reached down and picked up his knife, smiling while he eyed it. “I’ll understand if you just want to stand back, sister.” He glanced back at her. The predator was here. “I can do this part by myself--like you said.”

“No.” She spoke without thinking. Her sweating palms gripped the bat tighter. She needed a deep breath, needed to ground herself. “No, I said I was in.” Hermione rolled her shoulders back before stepping forward, stepping towards her brother and their victim. 

_ Our victim. _

Tom didn’t speak, but his pleased smirk let Hermione know she had done the right thing. He may want to kill on his own, but Tom wanted his sister by his side more. Slowly, he turned his attention back to Lavender and they both began to assess the situation. Hermione hadn’t thought about how this part would play out.

Tom had clearly planned the evening out in his mind. He knelt back down before Lavender. He put the tip of his hunting knife on the skin of her thigh exposed by her short denim skirt. Hermione watched as Lavender tried to get away from Tom, as she leaned back in her chair, but didn’t gain an inch of space. She watched as Lavender lashed around like a trapped animal, as she tried to scream against the duct tape, as she tugged on the zip ties around her ankles. All of Lavender was pulling and straining and not gaining anything. Hermione’s heart sped up, raced in her chest.

Then, Tom’s knife finally cut her skin. He pressed down and the hunting knife forced its way in. His first cut was deep and long; Hermione watched the skin separate like unzipped fabric. She watched the blood pour up out of the wound, dark red liquid. It was surreal. She didn’t notice the extra panic in Lavender, the extra heat in Tom’s eyes. Hermione reached past Tom and ran her fingers over some of Lavender’s uncut skin, through the blood. It was hot and sticky and there was just so much. It kept flowing out of the wound, flowing so much that they couldn’t change their minds if they wanted to.

_ If they wanted to _ .

She rubbed her fingers together, focusing on the feeling of the blood sliding between her skin. Hermione had never seen so much blood at once, never had so much of it before her. It was her turn to kneel, to join the party and lose herself. She ran her hand down Lavender’s calf, wiping the blood off on their victim’s skin, watching as she left trails.

Hermione felt Tom’s eyes on her. She noticed him pull the knife back, out of the wound, and watch as she explored. She ran one finger up Lavender’s leg and tentatively pushed it into the open cut. Hermione could feel Lavender’s body tensen as it was invaded. Lavender was still struggling in her chair--almost more now--but Hermione knew that would only go on so long before the poor girl was exhausted. Curiously, Hermione added a second finger into the wound and pushed more. She began to examine the wound. She felt past the layers of skin, feeling for the difference between skin and muscle, for anything that felt different. She was in awe as she felt the inside of a living human being, as she shoved her fingers in deeper and clawed the wound open more. She listened to Lavender’s muffled screams, listened to the sound of the zip ties scraping against the chair, listened to the fast breathing coming from all three of them, listened to everything.

Quickly, Hermione pulled her two fingers out of the cut and fell back on her ass. She looked at Tom. She held his gaze and did her best to stay calm. Tom’s eyes were burning charcoal fueling a monster. It made her wonder what she must look like, crazed with a bloodied hand.

“What now?” Hermione asked him, her voice raw. Her mouth felt dry and she swallowed. Her and the Tom before her were the same. She was a monster, too.

“We make her sorry for what she did,” Tom hissed. “Your head, she needs to apologize.”

“I don’t want that tape coming off. I don’t care if no one heard you shouting; I don’t want to hear her voice ever again.” Hermione’s entire body was shaking and she did her best to steady herself.

“Fine.” Tom looked irritated, but he turned his attention back to the reason they were there. He’d pester her a different day for giving him orders in front of another soul, but Hermione knew he’d take her request to heart. Hermione couldn’t stomach the idea of listening to Lavender plead for her life anymore. 

“Then it’s time I get to experiment.”

Tom let his eyes focus on the same thigh. Hermione watched with wide eyes as Tom pressed the tip of the knife against the exposed flesh. He pressed down and pulled the blade towards him, slowly slicing Lavender’s skin open. It cut smoothly; the knife was meant to assist a predator. It was meant to slide through layers of skin and kill quickly, meant to kill big game for hunters. What would they think if they knew the tool they had designed was used to kill people?

Hermione sat back and watched as her brother slowly made cuts into Lavender’s legs. None of them were deep enough to hit an artery--which made Hermione question some of his recent library study sessions. He seemed to try to be making them uniform, to control how the knife moved through human flesh.

Once he was done with the one thigh, he moved to the next. Hermione had to swallow down bile as she watched Tom begin to remove sections of skin. It was more of an attempt than any real success. She watched as he gripped chunks of Lavender’s skin and kept cutting them too thin, pulling them too tight, knife slipping up or down too suddenly. Tom was making a mess, tossing his failed attempts of skin on the plastic covered ground. Blood was dripping off Lavender’s thighs and pooling on the floor in growing puddles. The girl was still struggling, still crying out in pain, but with each minute her attempts were getting weaker and weaker.

“Are you done yet, Tom?” Hermione asked after what felt like a century. Her brother tensened and she realized that he had forgotten she was even there. Tom was off in his own little world, trying to do something he had probably been dreaming of for years.

“I can’t seem to get this technique down,” he stated through gritted teeth. He kept his back to her and Hermione knew there was only one way to calm him down.

Slowly, Hermione stood. She placed herself behind Tom and touched his shoulder with her clean hand. “Come on, Tom,” she coaxed him softly. “I wanted another turn and you’re taking up a lot of time.”

Her words seemed to relax him as he leaned back into her slightly. He took a moment to think, a moment that left Hermione to stare at the scene before her. Lavender’s thigh was destroyed. It was missing giant chunks of skin, several areas showed her exposed muscles. Hermione could see the muscle moving slightly as Lavender’s own body twitched against the pain the cool night air brought by simply touching her open wounds. There was bile in Hermione’s mouth again, but she couldn’t ignore the twisted, excited feeling in the pit of her stomach. The way those muscles moved…

“Fine.” Tom finally spoke and stood as well. He took a step back and appeared to be admiring their handiwork. “What is it you want to do?”

His dark eyes turned to her and her breath caught. Everything was different now. She was a monster, too. She was covered in blood and guts and she loved it. Despite the fact that she was on the verge of vomiting, Hermione was enjoying herself. And now? The way Tom was looking at her, looking at her as if she was the only person that mattered in their whole world. 

Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She listened to the quiet of their building. Listened to the settling creaks it always made, listened to the heavy breathing and struggling of Lavender Brown, listened to the pounding of her own heart. What did she want to do, really? 

With opened eyes, Hermione bent down and picked up the baseball bat Tom had brought just for her.

“Back up,” she told Tom quietly. He took a few steps back and watched her with curious, hungry eyes.

The bat felt right in her hands. It was light, but that made sense now. Tom’s knife was light and it had sliced Lavender right open. There was no poetry to murder, no beautiful art that would make it into their own Shakespearian play. No, this was simply a horrifying crime scene made by two sick, brilliant teenagers with nothing better to do.

_ Crack! _

It happened fast. She pulled the bat back and swung fast so she couldn’t stop herself. The bat collided with one of Lavender’s knees and made a sickening sound. Lavender’s eyes bulged as pain was shot through her body. Hermione couldn’t help but grin. Her pulse was racing, an electric thrill ran through her veins. The duct tape muffled Lavender’s sickening screams and she began to sob. The knee that had collided with the bat was broken. It looked wrong and deformed. The bones inside of it had to be shattered.

Hermione twisted the bat in her grip. Her shoulders pulled back as her posture straightened. The guilt and fear that had been binding her body released her. She liked this. She liked the goosebumps that covered her skin, loved the electricity that ran through her body, loved the heat that gathered between her legs.

She looked over to her brother and was met with a salacious gaze that she could only call carnal. He was watching her intently, leaned forward, ready to leap in at a moment’s notice. Hermione felt a smile spread across her lips, a smile she hadn’t worn before. It showed her teeth, crinkled the skin around her eyes, made her nostrils flare. Laughter bubbled out of her chest and before she knew it, Tom was joining in. Their laughter overpowered the muffled sobs that racked Lavender’s bound body. 

Once their laughter died down, Tom stepped closer to Hermione, closing the distance between them. He caressed her cheek, partially dried blood sticking to her skin yet she leaned into him as always. She let out a soft sigh and held his dark gaze.

“Ready for this to end?” he asked her, searching her eyes for a genuine answer.

Sadly, Hermione nodded. “If we want to clean up and still be home before dawn, we need to wrap up now.” She frowned at him, putting on a jovial pout at the idea. Her words sent Lavender into a whole new spiral of sobs, but neither of them even looked at her.

“This was all for you,” Hermione added. “You should be the one to kill her.”

Her words made Tom smile, a smile that met his dark eyes and made her stomach do a flip. He looked crazed and animalistic, ready to tear Lavender apart with just his hands.

“How are you going to do it?” She was sad when his hand left her cheek, but it only moved to stroke her arm. Tom traced circles up and down her arm, lightly touching her skin and giving her goosebumps. It eased her soul, made her frown fade and her brows unfurrow.

“Slit her throat.” He stated it the same way he ordered food—simple, right to the point. Hermione nodded to him and Tom backed away from her.

Tom approached Lavender, his knife in hand yet again. Hermione moved to the side, making sure she had a clear view this time. Just as before, Tom grabbed Lavender’s hair and yanked it back to keep her head still, perfectly exposing her neck. Hermione could see Lavender swallow hard, see her breath catch with fear, see her pulse racing. She had to give the girl credit—even to the end—Lavender continued to struggle.

With a knife to her throat, Tom smiled down at her. “Nobody fucks with my sister.” The words were crisp like the night air around them. There was one more muffled scream against the tape before the knife flashed in the moonlight that snuck in through broken windows. The cut looked effortless, her skin sliced right open and blood squirted out with each beat of Lavender’s heart.


	10. Chapter Nine - Sacred Waters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s the new chapter! I should have one up on time next week! Life is really messy right now. One of my dogs is really sick and that’s taking up a lot of my time, but I have some writing stocked up and it’s a nice distraction so I might still be posting on time. 
> 
> Thank you for all the kudos and comments everyone. I hope you keep enjoying the story!

“Well, we didn’t think this through very well,” Hermione huffed. She was sitting on the floor of the abandoned cabin, on a dry part of the plastic, watching Tom saw his way through the wrist of Lavender’s deceased body with his hunting knife.

“No, we did not,” he grunted. He sent her a dirty look and Hermione held up her hands in innocence.

“Hey, it’s both of our faults,” she admitted. Neither of them thought about the sheer force it would take to remove Lavender’s hands from her dead body, let alone doing it twice back to back. They only had one knife with them, meaning Hermione couldn’t have gone ahead and started on the second wrist while Tom had been back on the first. It felt like a waste of time for her to just sit there and watch him. “I should’ve done research. There’s got to be an easier way to sever the wrists--to sever anything, really.”

Without meaning to, Hermione leaned forward and studied Tom as he worked on the wrist. It was messy. The cut was jagged, revealing bone in the places he had hit it and moved over slightly. He just needed to find the right angle, hit the tendons just right and navigate through the gap between the several small bones that attached the hand and the wrist. Lavender’s skin was a shredded mess, a butcher job gone wrong. They still had so much to learn. 

“We need to get a second knife,” Tom asserted. “We’re losing too much time with this nonsense.” Finally, with the slight tilt of his knife, he pushed down and it found the final correct twist, the right path. It sliced right through Lavender’s tendons and Tom made quick work of the rest of it. Once it was removed, he tossed the wrist next to her other one and let out a heavy sigh. “Fuck.”

Hermione stood and offered him a hand up, which he took, letting their bloodied hands squelch together. They stared down at the scene beneath them—their crime. It was horrendous, really, looking down at the body of someone she used to know. Lavender’s brown eyes were open and lifeless, staring straight up in absolute horror. The duct tape had been removed from her mouth and put in a ziplock baggie Hermione had off to the side. No, instead of the tape, they were looking at Lavender’s open, gaping mouth that now had close to no teeth. Hermione had smashed them out with the hilt of the knife and gathered them in the same baggie as the duck tape near Lavender’s hands. They were staring down at Lavender’s dark, toothless mouth frozen in a scream of fear, her eyes matching it perfectly. 

“Oh God,” Hermione murmured, placing a hand over her mouth. “I think I’m going to be sick.” She began to back up. Tom let her have her room, watching her as she backed away--first slowly, then quickly--and ran out the cabin.

Hermione found the nearest bushes and doubled over, heaving the entire contents of her stomach. Once, twice, she vomited until they were just dry heaves, nothing left to come up. She stood slowly, steading herself against a nearby tree. She wiped her mouth on the bottom of her shirt. Hermione turned to find Tom exiting their abandoned building with a granola bar and water bottle in hand. He always knew what she needed.

“Here.” He held both items out, eyes filled with concern. “I know the last thing you can think about right now is food, but you’re going to start feeling weak real fast with nothing to sustain your body. Try to eat half of that and sip on the water.” He continued to talk after she took the water and granola bar. Hermione began to eat the bar slowly, using the water to ease it down. “I added some items to the list of supplies we need to get. There’s no way to dismember her entire body with what we have. I’m going to drag her body out to the hole I dug earlier and start burying her. Are you going to be okay?”

Tom refused to move until Hermione nodded. Once she had shown some sign of being alright, he turned and walked right back into the building. Within a minute, he was back out, dragging Lavender’s body by her ankles across the forest floor. Hermione fought the urge to scold him, to tell him he needs to drag her wrapped in plastic, but she didn’t. He’s doing the hard work so she can rest; he’s doing it for her. She swallowed down her remarks with the rest of her granola bar, looking away from Lavender’s vacant gaze as she was dragged by.

He had been right, of course. The moment Hermione got some food in her empty stomach, her hands had stopped shaking, She swished some water around inside her mouth and spit it into a bush. The taste of vomit was still faint in her mouth, but it was nowhere near as bad as it had been just minutes before. By the time she’s ready to stand steadily on her feet, Tom came through the trees. There was a sheen of sweat on his forehead and his shoes were caked in mud.

“She’s gone.”

Hermione nodded and followed him into the cabin.

\--

It had taken a long time to get to the pig farm and back. They had decided to do it together. Hermione wasn’t sure who had made the decision, but it seemed like neither of them wanted the other to go off alone. After the teeth and hands had been disposed of, they took the plastic to a nearby river and rinsed it off in the water. It had been eerie, watching the blood slide off the plastic and fade away. It was so simple, so easy to wash away the visual evidence of their crimes. It almost brought peace to Hermione.

The hardest part to plan out had been cleaning themselves. They knelt by the edge of the river and washed the blood and mud from their hands. Hermione felt lighter once her hands were clean. She let the water run over her fingers, watching it flow, listening to the whispers the river made in the night.

“We’ve got to wash the rest of us, too,” Tom reminded her, pulling her from her trance. She looked to the side, at her brother. Tom’s hands were clean now, as well, but she could see what he was referring to. He had blood splattered on his face, neck, and arms. She was nowhere near as covered, but she could feel dried blood on her in various spots.

Without thinking, she followed Tom’s movements as he stood. He turned to face her and she did the same, just a bit of space between them. His eyes ran over her; Hermione knew he was taking in the sight of her covered in blood. Hermione breathed in shakily, nervously. She recognized the mania in his eyes--the same look he had given her earlier that evening. It was overwhelming, too much to be contained in one man, yet he was trying. Never before had Hermione witnessed Tom so raw, so absolutely the boy she knew him to be. Looking at him made it hard to breathe.

One glance at Tom told her all she needed to know. Those predatory looks she had been catching from him--the ones filled with longing and hunger and  _ desire _ \--had been real. Hermione hadn’t been imagining them. She hadn’t been misinterpreting any of the signals she was receiving. It hadn’t been misguided lust from their bloodshed. No, Hermione knew exactly what Tom wanted.

Hermione held Tom’s burning gaze as she reached down and grabbed the bottom of her tank top. Slowly, she pulled it up over her stomach, over her chest, over her head. She watched as Tom’s pupils dilated, a sign of attraction he couldn’t fight even if he wanted to. His breath caught as she lowered her arms, tank top in one hand. Her skin was bare to the cool night wind as she stood with just her black bra on.

She knelt next to the river and balled her tank top up in her hand. Hermione dipped the tip of it in the water, soaking it. Moving cautiously--as if one step too fast would scare her brother off--she stood before him, barely a foot between them.

“Let me help you.” Her offer was meant to come across soft and gentle, but a yearning she hadn’t heard before filled her voice. Hermione waited a moment, the damp shirt in hand, and gave him the chance to turn her down. She gave him the chance to deny everything she saw in his eyes, to stop what was about to happen, to tell her siblings  _ shouldn’t _ be looking at another as they were.

Instead of breaking eye contact with or denying her, Tom pulled his own shirt over his head swiftly, letting it fall to the forest floor. Hermione quickly inhaled through her nose. She had seen him shirtless before, but not with the intent they shared, not with the moon’s light caressing his skin. She could feel her cheeks flush.

Hermione raised the wet material to Tom’s cheek first. His face and neck had gotten the brunt of the splatter. Gently, she cleaned the blood, mud, and sweat off his skin. It was so intimate. She stood close to see, her head tilted back to get the best view of his face in the dark. 

Tom was designed to live in the dark, she had decided. Cleaning his skin gave her time to get more familiar with it, to appreciate it. In the moonlight, he looked like an angel, a gift to mankind with a jawline that looked to be sculpted out of marble. It was like Tom belonged in a different era, a different time where beauty was meant to be met with suspicion. His defined cheekbones would’ve been a warning instead of a tool to lure and ease the souls of modern day.

Once his face was clean, she moved to his neck, swallowing hard.  _ His neck _ . Collar bones and soft skin and since when had she felt this ravenous for another person’s flesh? She wanted to eat him alive. If she focused her eyes hard enough, she could watch a part of his neck moving slightly, moving in rhythm, moving blood along to keep him alive. 

Hermione pulled her hand back, eyeing his freshly cleaned skin. “All good,” she told him softly, eyes finding their way back up to his. She had managed to avoid them the entire time she had been cleaning his neck, anxiety eating away at her confidence. In her fifteen years of life, Hermione had close to no experience with boys. Most of her interactions had been harassment, bullying, or just pining after stupid Ron. Pining after Tom didn’t seem to be an option. He wasn’t a person she could doodle the name of in her journal with hearts around it. He wasn’t the boy who took you to Homecoming or Prom. He was Tom Riddle, the boy who knew too much about knives and death and how to dispose of a body. No, Hermione could never simply pine after him. If she continued down this road, she’d be selling her soul to the Devil.

_ But hadn’t she already? _

“Your turn,” Tom murmured.

He went to remove the damp tank top from her hand, allowing his slender fingers to glide against hers. Kneeling by the river again, Tom rinsed out the blood from the fabric and wrung it out again. When he stood back up, he didn’t leave the same amount of space between them. Hermione thought she had been pushing their boundaries with her proximity to Tom, but he stood so close to her that she automatically took a step back. Her back ran into a tree trunk, stopping her from putting any more space between them. He took another step, standing so close that her chest brushed against his as she breathed. It sent sparks through her body and to the core of her; a core she didn’t even know she had before that day.

In a gesture only Hermione ever got to witness, Tom carefully began removing the blood he himself had placed on her cheek. Instinctually, Hermione leaned into his touch, a soft sigh leaving her lips. She had witnessed her brother committing murder just hours before, yet he still made her feel safe. 

“You did good today,” he praised her quietly. Hermione met Tom’s burning gaze and swallowed.

“Thank you.” The words came out quiet, barely a whisper. Receiving a compliment from Tom was a rarity and it made her immensely proud.

Even in the cold night, Hermione felt herself heat up under his touch, under his gaze. With the same hands that had slit Lavender’s throat, Tom cleaned her cheek, neck, and arms attentively. This, too, was her Tom. All of him was her Tom.

“Tom?” Hermione asked quietly. He had dropped his hand, the blood all removed from her skin, but in return, she had raised hers. Daringly, Hermione let one hand run through his dark hair. On his really bad days, she had played with his hair to calm him. Now...Now all she wanted was to touch him. She let her eyes finally settle on his mouth. He licked his lips and wicked thoughts came to mind that Hermione hadn’t connected to her brother before.

“Yes, sister?” She could hear the want in his voice--finally an emotion Tom couldn’t mask from her. He leaned forward, resting an arm against the tree trunk above her head. Bending his head down, he watched as she nervously looked from his mouth to his eyes and back. She wanted him to just end her misery, to kiss her and put an end to all the swirling emotions in her chest.

The only word that managed to leave her lips was a quiet “please”, but it did the job. Before she had time to second guess her plea, his lips captured hers. Tom kissed her fervently, thoroughly, with a passion Hermione hadn’t realized he had for her. Both of her hands found their way into his hair, twisting in and yanking lightly. Apparently she was doing something correctly because a growl escaped Tom’s throat, low and quiet. 

He pushed his body against hers firmly now, pinning her between him and the tree. One of his hands found her hip and gripped it tightly. Hermione was certain she’d have bruises the shape of his fingertips come morning and she shuddered against his warm, hungry lips. Bravely, she bit his bottom lip and ran her tongue along it. He tasted sharp and hot, like corruption and sin and everything she had ever wanted. That snapped something in him. Suddenly, Tom’s free hand was wrapped around her exposed throat, his long, slender fingers squeezing lightly. Hermione knew she was meant to feel fear; fear was the logical reaction to someone’s hand around her throat. A quiet moan left her mouth, consumed quickly as Tom devoured her mouth.  Heat pooled  between her legs and she began to squirm. She rubbed her thighs together, desperately wanting something between them. What was he doing to her?

His grip on her throat loosened slightly as he pulled his lips away from hers. He kept himself close, noses still brushing. For the first minute, all they did was try to catch their breath as Hermione stared up at him, searching his eyes, looking for an answer as to why he had stopped. She wanted more and she wanted it now. 

“You can stop with the puppy dog eyes.” When Tom finally spoke, his voice was rough. He cleared his throat, trying to piece himself back together. A dangerous smile found its way into his lips as he slowly kissed the side of her jaw over to the shell of her ear. His lips brushed her earlobe, teeth grazing skin so gentle it sent chills down her spine. “The only reason why I’m not fucking you right now,” he whispered to her, “is because if we don’t wrap up and head home right now, we’ll get caught sneaking in by my father.”

Hermione grabbed at his chest to stabilize herself as his words shook her world.  _ He wanted to  _ fuck _ her? _ Her own brother, the boy she grew up with? The boy she was licking lips with, the boy who she was letting choke her against a tree in the middle of a secluded forest, the boy she had killed for. 

She let that fact settle, let the idea of Tom between her legs make her heat up even more. Hermione moved her hands around from his chest to his back and traced designs on his skin, buying herself just a minute of peace. 

“I want you to fuck me soon, if not tonight,” Hermione whispered in response. She looked up to the stars, up to the heavens where there was no god to witness their sins. 

No, there was no god. If they could lure girls into forests and kill her with childhood toys before kissing their siblings under the moon, then there was no way a god existed. Tom and herself, they were gods. They woke up each day and decided who lived and who died. They decided what they would do with no regard to any societal expectations. There was no god in heaven because  _ they _ walked the earth. 


	11. Chapter Ten - Monday Absence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi folks! I wanna say sorry to all the lovely people who commented but I haven't replied to yet. It's been a really long week. My dog is doing better, she's just been requiring most of my energy. I really appreciate all of the kudos and comments and love this story has gotten!
> 
> Per usual, here is your weekly update. I hope you enjoy it!

**Chapter Ten - Monday Absence**

The trek home wasn’t easy, but they did it hand in hand. Hermione had finally crashed from the adrenaline as they hiked out of the forest, lagging behind her brother who was still riding the best high of his life. He guided them out—doing the thinking for the both of them—as he led them out by the back of the now-empty football field. In stark contrast to when Hermione had lured Lavender away, the field’s lights were off and the stands were empty. Bits of trash were still scattered about, signs half hung from the night before. 

Hermione and Tom managed to sneak into their house right before dawn broke that Saturday morning. They each went into their own rooms, changed out of the spare clothes they had packed, and climbed into their own beds.

As the sun peeked through her blinds, the deeds they had done began to settle on her. Hermione curled up on her side, a layer of blankets on top of her, fabric fisted in her hands. She stared blankly out at the back of her closed bedroom door, at the door that separated her from her family. The morning before, she had laid in that bed and not been a murderer. She could never say that again. From here on out, she would always be a murderer—or, at least, an accomplice. Hermione laid in her bed a changed person, a person she could never come back from, a person she could never tell others about. 

She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, but she felt no doubt. Hermione stood by her choice. The hot tears rolling down her cheeks weren’t a sign of her changing her mind, but grievance for the girl she left behind in the woods with Lavender’s dismembered body. It wasn’t just Lavender Tom had buried out in the cold forest floor. He had buried her innocence, her hope for a bright future, her plausible deniability. 

He had buried any chance of her turning back and she was glad. Her life was in his hands and she had never felt safer. 

—

Monday came quietly. Hermione found herself in first period before the boys with enough time to set up her notes for the class. Neither boy showed their face until the bell rang, both Harry and Ron racing into class as it sounded. They hurried to their seats on either side of Hermione, ignoring Mrs. McGonagall's pointed look. 

“Cutting it close,” Hermione scolded them in a hushed tone as class began. 

“We’ve been busy,” Ron snapped. His face was red, the same undesirable shade it turned whenever he was angered or embarrassed. Hermione ignored the wave of excitement she felt and pushed away the urge to smile. 

“Ron,” Harry whispered with a frown. “Maybe she doesn’t know!”

“Maybe I don’t know what?” Hermione asked, looking from boy to boy with an eyebrow raised in curiosity. Thankfully Mrs. McGonagall was busy passing out their newest book to read, but they only had moments to talk. 

“It’s Lavender,” Ron told her quickly, his voice cracking in the way it did when he was upset. “I haven’t heard from her since the game. No texts, no calls, nothing.”

“Maybe she got grounded?” Hermione offered the idea dismissively. It wouldn’t have been surprising if the foolish girl had gotten in trouble. 

“No!” Ron responded harshly while Harry shook his head. 

“She’s not here today,” Harry tried explaining. “It’s why we were late. Went looking for her.”

She glanced at both boys. “Maybe she’s sick?”

“I saw her at the game.” Ron explained. “She waved to me during the second quarter and then I went to find her after the game—she always finds me after—and I couldn’t find her anywhere!”

Hermione hadn’t thought about Lavender catching Ron’s attention while they had been at the game together. Had he seen her? She couldn’t figure out if she needed to mention that she had been there to cover her ass or not. 

“Weasley,” Mrs. McGonagall called from the front of the class “Unless you’ve already read all of  _ Macbeth _ , I don't see why you should be talking in my class right now.”

“Sorry,” Ron muttered and ducked his head. 

Hermione didn’t get time to hear the boys continue their conversation during class. Once it ended, they took off again in the search for Lavender, hoping she had come to school late. It took all of Hermione’s self control to not snicker as the boys literally pushed past other students as they ran out the room. 

When lunch came around, Hermione found her usual spot next to Tom and settled in. Everything was the same as every other day, but when their knees brushed, she inhaled sharply. No one seemed to notice besides her brother who simply sent her a knowing side glance. With a hard swallow and a small smile to herself, Hermione pulled her sandwich out of her bag. She listened to Tom’s friends retell their epic stories from the party as she ate her sandwich with mild interest. Typical teenage boys really were boring.

Their peace was disturbed when Ron and Harry came skittering down the hall they inhabited. Tom sent an annoyed look at his sister to which Hermione only sighed in response. She was trying to enjoy her lunch.

“What is it?” she demanded before the pair made it all the way to them. Harry seemed a little startled by her attitude, but Ron didn’t even notice. 

“Lavender still!” Ron shouted this time. Much to his credit, Tom didn’t move an inch. He stayed as relaxed as he had been the entire time, still eating the chips he had taken from Lucius, one by one. 

“People miss school some days, Ron.” Hermione let her disinterest seep into her words, earning her a snicker from Severus and Lucius both. 

Ron sent a glare toward them both before looking back to Hermione. “‘Mione, I saw her  _ at the game _ !” Tom narrowed his eyes at the use of the nickname he hadn’t heard before. “You were at the game, right? Didn’t you say you were going?”

There it was. Hermione had Ron’s pleading eyes honed in on her as well as Harry curiously watching her. They had all expected her to be at the game.

“Yeah, I did,” she replied smoothly, still irritated. “I was with Lavender for awhile. I waved to you, too--not that you remember.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “She didn’t seem to be a big fan of me hanging out with her so at halftime she went to go get a drink or something and just never came back. I figured she just went to go hang out with some of her friends.” She shrugged. “Why don’t you just go to her house after school today if you’re so worried?”

It was obvious the thought hadn’t occurred to the boy. Ron blinked, eyes wide. “That’s brilliant,” he muttered. “Yeah, I’m gonna do that! Thanks, ‘Mione!”

Ron had turned to leave, but Harry stayed there for a moment. He had a lopsided smile on as he ran his hand through his already messy hair. “I’m glad you came for the game,” Harry said genuinely.

It made her think about the things Lavender had said, about her sleeping with Harry. Her cheeks heated. Did Lavender know something she didn’t? Guess she couldn’t ask, since she was buried in the dirt now. 

His words upset Tom, who’s hand gripped Hermione’s ankle. It was situated under her own knee and behind her school bag so no one could see, but his touch alone let her know he was upset. His skin scorched against hers, so hot she expected burn marks. Her brother’s shoulders stiffened and she could see that his nostrils flared just slightly. “Don’t you have a friend to follow?” Tom asked pleasantly, a perfect smile drawn on his lips. 

Harry looked at Tom for a moment, then back at Hermione. “I didn’t see you afterwards,” he commented. He pursed his lips and Tom’s grip on her ankle tightened. It made her heart race and her breath catch. Hermione almost wanted Harry to stay just to upset Tom more. 

“They were somewhere more important,” Lucius drawled from his spot across the hall, drawing Harry’s attention. “How about you hurry on back to whatever rat-infested hole you found those hand-me-downs in and find some of your own people to talk with. We were in the middle of a conversation here before your friend rudely interrupted us.”

Thankfully, Harry assessed the situation before he spoke. He eyed the senior guys and seemed to realize he was at a major disadvantage. Looking back to Hermione, he gave her a sad smile. “See you later.” Then, he turned and caught up with Ron. 

“Yikes,” Lucius sniggered and the others laughed. 

Tom didn’t release her ankle until lunch ended. 

—

The walk home from school was the first time Hermione had gotten to be alone with Tom since they had parted ways Saturday morning. They had spent the entire weekend with their parents, creating firm alibis in case they ever needed them. As soon as they broke away from the other groups of kids walking home in various directions, Hermione’s pulse began to quicken. Being alone with Tom had always been nice, but ever since he had kissed her, all she could do was think about his touch. 

“I think something needs to be done about that Potter kid,” was the first phrase to leave Tom’s mouth. It instantly cooled Hermione’s flesh, washing away all her daydreams of hot mouths and needy hands.

“No, we don’t.” Her words were firm, cemented by the fact that she stopped walking. She’d have that argument right there in front of a stranger’s house if she had to. “Not only is that just stupid, we both know it’s because you don’t like me having friends besides you.” Hermione crossed her arms across her chest.

Tom turned around quickly and sent a glare her way. “You have friends. You and Severus get along splendidly.”

“Severus?” Hermione was dumbfound. “That’s your friend I put up with to please you! We agreed that I have a veto and I’m using it now.” She stomped her foot for emphasis and ignored Tom’s raised eyebrow. “There will be no killing of Harry.”

“Oh, there won’t be?” Tom asked mockingly. He closed the distance between them in two steps, leaving only a foot between them. It knocked away her train of thought. Suddenly she was focused on mouths and hands again, the sharp smell of blood and cold dirt. Hermione had to take a deep breath to ground herself, to remind herself that she  _ couldn’t  _ kiss this boy in broad daylight because he was her  _ fucking brother _ . “Is that because Mr. Linebacker has a soft spot for you, sister?” He smiled cruelly. “That was in Lavender’s diary, too. How she was  _ so _ tired of listening to Harry go on about how wonderful you are.”

“Stop it,” Hermione snapped at him, but there wasn’t as much bite to her words. She shoved past him, her shoulder managing to jostle him some. “If you’re stupid enough to think that’s where my interest lies, then go ahead. It’s obvious my words don’t hold any ground with you.” 

She hadn’t meant for her hurt to come out, but it did. His words wounded her. Time and time again, Hermione was doing everything she could for Tom and he was still doubting where her loyalty was. She had  _ literally _ killed for the boy and he still wanted to harass her about a crush she had no control over. Maybe she cared enough about Harry to not want him to end up ripped apart like Lavender had, but that didn’t mean she cared for him in the ways Tom was insinuating. 

What hurt worse was that Tom didn’t try to argue with her on the way home. He stayed a good few feet behind Hermione and kept to himself. Not a word was exchanged.

Once they had crossed the threshold into their home, Hermione whirled around and tossed her school bag at Tom’s torso. He caught it with ease, his eyes narrowing. Tom set her school bag on the end table nearby before turning his attention back to her. 

“Fine,” he said in a clipped tone. “The Potter kid is safe. You’ve used your veto.”

Hermione stood straighter. She tried to find the same confidence deep in her that she had seen Tom pull out of nowhere numerous times before. If she had ever needed it, it was then. She wanted to stand tall, to keep her head level and not let the tears come that her trivial teenage hormones were orchestrating. 

“Good,” she bit back firmly. This time Tom walked past her, leaving her alone in their empty living room. A shudder racked her body once he left the room, her jaw finally untensing. There shouldn’t be a reason Hermione had to put on a strong front for Tom. She had always been his, didn’t he see that? 

Even psychopath teenage boys were stupid. 

The afternoon passed in unease, the house silent until their parents returned home from work. Tom and Hermione stayed secluded in their own rooms, avoiding each other. 

When time for dinner came, Hermione begrudgingly left her sanctuary and took her spot at the family table, across from her brother. Tom wore the same pleasant expression he always did and Hermione fought the urge to kick his shin under the table. 

“Your birthday is coming up,” Jean mentioned as she served herself salad. She glanced at her daughter and smiled. “Did you want to do anything special?”

“Just dinner,” Hermione replied sweetly, “like last year. The four of us and the steakhouse. It was really nice.” She accepted the salad bowl from her mother and started putting food on her own plate. 

“That was rather pleasant, was it not?” Jean smiled at her husband, who nodded in agreement. They only had one steakhouse in town so there wasn’t any room for confusion as to the location. Their town didn’t allow for many options in most things. “Did you want to invite any of your friends?”

Hermione felt Tom’s eyes on her before she caught sight of them. His expression was still neutral, but his eyes didn’t match. No, they were filled with absolute rage. He was telling her not to, that she wouldn’t  _ dare  _ invite Harry out anywhere. 

It was just too fucking tempting. 

“Actually, I think I might.” Hermione smiled at her mother, who was very happy with her answer. 

“Splendid!” Jean gushed. It was very rare for Jean to even hear about any of Hermione’s peers, let alone meet one. “I’ll make the reservation tomorrow. Does that sound good to you, dear?”

Tom Sr. grunted in agreement, his mouth preoccupied by the salmon they were eating. He wasn’t a man of many words nor did he care much about social situations. 

“It’s just an invite,” Hermione emphasizes quickly. She looked across the table and smiled at Tom, who looked ready to kill. “There’s no guarantee he’ll come.”

—

Hermione spent the rest of her evening in the living room in the safe presence of her mother. She watched more  _ Chicago Fire _ than she had ever hoped to solely to avoid her brother. There was no doubt Tom was down the hall, lurking in his room, waiting for her to be alone. She had agitated the monster, not just poked the beast but thrown boulders at it. 

She was ready for some excitement.

It was 11:03 in the evening when Jean let out a quiet yawn and stretched her back. “That’s it for me,” she admitted defeat. “I’m turning in.” She patted Hermione’s knee affectionately. “Try not to stay up much later, okay? It’s a school night.”

With that, her mother got off the couch and disappeared down the dark hallway. Hermione turned the television off just in time to hear the quiet  _ click _ of her mother’s bedroom door latching shut. She couldn’t hold back the smug smile that claimed her lips. Getting to her feet, Hermione stretched as well. The cracking of her back  _ almost _ covered the sound of a door opening and the quiet squealing of old hinges. She kept her back to the hallway entrance, watching Tom’s reflection on the black television screen as he entered the room.

“Dinner was excellent tonight, was it not, brother?” Hermione asked politely, quietly, letting it be known she could see him. She didn’t even need the television’s reflection. If she closed her eyes, her body—her  _ soul _ —could tell her where he was. They were connected through sin now. 

Hermione bit her lip hard to muffle the gasp that wanted to escape her mouth as Tom took a handful of her hair and yanked her head back in a jerking motion. She knew instantly her neck would hurt like hell the next day, but she couldn’t even bring herself to care. The warmth she had felt between her legs came pooling back and her eyelids fluttered shut. 

“You are,” Tom began, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, breath tickling her skin, “in more trouble than you could  _ ever  _ imagine.”

Before Hermione could process what trouble even looked like, Tom was forcefully guiding her out of their family living room by her head, his hand still fisting her untamed curls. She knew she was in trouble, that Tom was dangerous—a murderer—and yet she found herself smiling as they made their way down the dark hallway. They didn’t speak a word as they beelined it to Tom’s room, only the quiet sound of their breathing and the padding of their bare feet filling the hallway. 

Tom opened his bedroom door and threw her towards his bed. Hermione stumbled in, but kept herself on her feet. She spun and faced him as he closed the door behind himself. The room was dark, the screen of his computer the only light source besides the moonlight that snuck through the blinds.  _ The moon was their witness yet again. _

“What do you have to be grinning about?” His tone was harsh, his anger pouring out of him and into his voice. 

“You’re just so predictable.” Hermione knew her words would push him again. A snarl ripped out of him and she took a cautious step back, the back of her knees hitting his bed. “All I have to do is mention Harry and you lose all that control.”

His nostrils flared and he took another step toward her. “Is that what this is about? Is this a game to you, little sister?” Cruelty seeped into his words and a chill swept through her body. “Are you trying to play with me?”

“I’m trying to show you how ridiculous you’re being.” She put as much strength as she could into her statement, trying to hide the bit of fear that had begun to creep back into her. He was Tom. He was a monster. She knew better. 

“Oh, are you?” Tom cocked his head to the side. His expression morphed into intrigue, but he couldn’t hide the rage in his eyes. He took another step towards her, causing Hermione to swallow hard. “From where I’m standing, all I see is my insolent little sister looking for attention.”

“A-attention?” The word fell out of her mouth before she could stop it. It earned her a snort which only made the warmth between her legs worse. She had never imagined a computer screen could highlight someone’s features  _ so _ well. The way his nose sloped, the curve of his cheekbones, the animalistic glow of his eyes like a predator hiding in the dark. Tom was a monster, but she wanted him to be her monster. 

“Attention,” he repeated. Tom closed the distance between them. With just one finger, he lightly traced the side of her jaw from her ear to her chin. There he grabbed her chin roughly and yanked it up, tilting her mouth up towards his. “Say it.”

“Say what?” Hermione wanted it to be a demand, but the words came out breathy. She stared right into his eyes, lost in the darkness he had to offer. 

“What do you want? Say it and I’ll give it to you.” Tom smiled cruelly down at her. “I promised I’d give you anything you wanted, did I not?”

Hermione nodded weakly and he waited. Tom waited patiently as he met her gaze evenly, rage morphing into a smolder that made Hermione want to melt into him. She had always known her brother was pretty, but she had never gotten to take such detailed inventory of his perfection. Even his eyelashes were perfect, thick and dark and plentiful. He could be an angel by any description she had ever heard.

She had found the devil himself.

“Kiss me,” Hermione ordered him. It was a whisper, but her words were firm, just as absolute as her expression. Tom gave her a smile that flashed his teeth before he placed his hands on her shoulders and shoved her forcefully back onto his bed.

Hermione let out a startled noise. He was above her, one knee between her legs, his hands on either side of her head. Without missing a beat, his mouth was on hers, claiming her all over again. Hermione closed her eyes, her hands grabbing handfuls of his hair as if her life depended on it. He tasted like danger and it sent electricity pulsing through her. Every point of contact their bodies had was sending electrical pulses through her body, all leading right to that spot between her legs, to that pool that was collecting more and more. 

Tom pulled her bottom lip in between his teeth and bit down hard enough to break skin. Hermione let out a shocked gasp. Her eyes shot open for a second before fluttering shut. She kissed back eagerly, darting her tongue into his mouth to find the sharp taste of her blood. 

That alone undid something in Tom. He rammed his knee up farther, roughly colliding with the spot between Hermione’s legs that she wasn’t familiar with. She let out a moan that was swallowed by Tom’s feverish kisses. Hermione rolled her hips down, grinding against his leg as she desperately sought out more of the delicious feeling he had introduced her to. 

Tom broke away from her mouth and kissed down her jaw, down to her neck. Hermione’s breath caught in her throat as she tilted her head back as far as she possibly could, baring her entire neck to him. 

“Tom,” she mewled quietly. One of her hands finally released his hair and clawed at his back, grabbing at his shirt. She kept rolling her hips as he kissed and licked and nipped at the sensitive skin of her neck, doing whatever he pleased. 

“You’re mine,” he hissed against her skin, moving farther down her neck. His mouth found the conjunction of her neck and shoulder and bit down hard. Tom sucked and bit and slapped a hand over her mouth as a moan fought its way out of her. Muffled sounds hummed against his hand as he worked on her skin. 

When Tom finally released her skin and uncovered her mouth, Hermione let out a soft sigh. He was looking down at her from above, the moonlight illuminating them both and they tried to catch their breath, Hermione’s hips still rolling occasionally. She bit her lip and looked up at him, looked for guidance, for an explanation, for anything.

“No more taunting.” His words were an order and she was in no place to argue. They were both so vulnerable, Hermione couldn’t imagine not listening to him. “He’s not coming to dinner. It’ll just be us and the parents.” His eyes searched hers until she nodded in agreement. Tom’s firm expression seemed to relax at that. 

“I’m sorry if I upset you,” Hermione murmured. She moved a hand from his hair and gently cupped his cheek. “You’re just so much fun worked up.”

Something flashed in Tom’s eyes. “If you want me to hurt you,” he growled, “just ask.” His words stirred the heat in her again, exactly what she was trying to stop. 

“We need to go to bed,” she told him quickly, her skin flushing.

Tom reached down and gently brushed the spot on her neck where he had paid extra attention. “Yes, we do.” He paused. “Wear a turtleneck tomorrow or a scarf.”

Hermione felt her skin flare in heat. She smacked his hand away. “Let me up!” Tom snorted and got back to his feet. Like the gentleman he was, he offered his hand and helped Hermione to her feet. She quickly fixed her messy hair and straightened her clothes. “Goodnight, Tom.”

“Goodnight, Hermione.”


	12. Chapter Eleven - Another Year Older

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Important stuff! First of all, tag changes! We’ve got unsafe sex tags being added in. Each chapter in which I write any unsafe sex scenes, I will also be putting a warning in the A/N just like I am right now. So, here’s the warning for this chapter. If you ever want to clarify what is in the chapter in detail before you read it, feel free to message me on my tumblr and I can work with you :)
> 
> Also! Sorry I didn’t post last week. Life is a lot right now. My dog is doing way better. There’s a lot of stuff going on right now and I’m emotionally drained. But I’ve got this chapter ready with the help of my beta, Zee, and my friends GeekieBeekie and SyrenGrey. Thanks everyone who helped me out and thank you to everyone reading! And fuck JKR!

Hermione found the next day to be the type that required a scarf to be worn; a little chilly, but not enough to need a coat. Tom walked to school with her as if they hadn’t viciously made out the night before and Hermione felt like the proverbial cat who had gotten the mouse. 

That was, until first period. It was always first period. 

“‘Mione!” The boys exclaimed in unison as she entered their English classroom. She held in a very heavy sigh, trying desperately to hold onto her happy buzz from the night prior. It slipped quickly from her grip as she registered the look of absolute heartbreak on Ron’s face and exhaustion on Harry’s.

“What’s going on?” She asked as she set her bag on her chair. “It’s been less than a day since I’ve seen you both. Why do you look like the world ended?” Her eyes searched their expressions, trying to find any explanation. Did they know she helped kill Lavender? They couldn’t; if they had, the police would’ve taken her away. 

“She’s gone,” Ron croaked. He sat—or rather, fell—into his seat with a look of defeat on his freckles face. “She just left.”

“For God’s sake, can we please form full sentences?” Hermione snapped and looked to Harry for an explanation. He grimaced. 

“Lavender’s parents went to the police last night,” Harry told her quietly. “It looks like she ran away. They hadn’t seen her all weekend and thought she might be with Ron, but when he went to her house…” He let his sentence fade off and gave a sad shrug. She could put two and two together. 

“So her parents reported her missing and they just assumed she was missing?” Hermione asked in genuine astonishment. “That’s it?”

Ron seemed to snap out of his vacant stare and looked at Hermione. “Apparently some of her things were missing.” His voice was dull, like the life had been sucked out of him. Hermione had to fight the amusement bubbling within her. “Her diary was gone.”

Hermione’s bubbling stomach dropped and she felt all the color drain from her body. “‘Her diary’” she repeated quietly. 

He nodded. “Her mom swears she would never have left it behind. It’s gone and so is her jacket, a pair of shoes, her phone.” Ron shrugged and let his eyes return to gazing at whatever comfortable spot they had found before. “She didn’t even leave a note. She didn’t say goodbye.”

“Hey,” Harry said gently. He leaned down so he was eye level with Ron. “She couldn’t have run away. The police have got to have it wrong, dude. We can look into this—“

“Harry, don’t be stupid.” The words flew out of her mouth before she could stop herself.  _ Fuck.  _ “It’s the police. They know what they’re doing.” Hermione moved her bag and sat in her seat, sending him a dirty look. She turned her attention to Ron and put on the best caring look she could.

“She’ll come back,” she lied smoothly and patted Ron’s hand. “Lavender loves you, right? I’m sure she just got overwhelmed or a fight happened at home and she panicked and left.”

“A, uh, fight?” Ron repeated, his eyes back in focus and on Hermione’s hand. “You think, umm, she could’ve left because of, uh, a fight?”

“Of course.” Hermione smiles warmly at him, following the lead where she could. “Was she fighting with her parents?”

“No.” Ron’s voice was so small. He shrunk in on himself. “We had, uh, a fight Thursday. I thought we were, umm, fine on Friday. She said she, uhh, forgave...me.”

Hermione nodded and furrowed her brows. “If that’s true, then I’m sure she’ll come back.” She gave his hand a good squeeze. “There’s no need to focus.”

With perfect time, Mrs. McGonagall called the class to attention and Hermione let Ron think about what she had said. Now, she just needed to get her hands on Tom.

—

Lunch was an interesting affair. Hermione stayed perfectly calm, fighting every urge in her body to throttle her impulsive, murderer brother. Tom realized something was wrong when Hermione kept up a ten minute long conversation with Severus without any prompting on his behalf. When he glanced over at his sister, Hermione simply smiled politely at him, using the very smile she had learned from him. Tom’s eyes narrowed and Hermione laughed pleasantly at something Severus had said. Lucius joined in the conversation, obviously craving the extra attention. 

The rest of the school day passed in agony. All Hermione could think about was what Ron had said. 

_ “Her diary was gone.” _

She was fucking livid. School ended and she met Tom at their typical spot. He looked impatient, already waiting to pester her about whatever lunch had been. Smoothly, she applied the same smile she had had on at lunch and ignored the anger that flared in his eyes. 

“Let’s go for a walk,” she suggested pleasantly. “Maybe out behind the football field?”

Tom glanced around at the students moving past them, moving away from the school to the freedom offered on the other side of the parking lot. He gave her a stiff nod and they started the trek toward the football field. They walked in silence.

Once they made it a safe distance into their woods, Hermione let her hand gently brush her brother’s. Tom saw the gesture for what it was and took her hand, lacing his fingers with hers in an act that would’ve been endearing from anyone else. From him, it was simply possessive. His grip was tight, unforgiving as he yanked her over thick roots in an attempt to keep her from tripping. He almost had it right and Hermione wouldn’t have traded it for anything else.

They made it to their cabin for the first time since Lavender’s death. The inside was still the same, their clothes still hung and undisturbed. Daylight leaked through the windows that were broken and the cracks of dust covered ones. It was almost beautiful, watching the dust specks dance in the sunlight. 

The moment they were both in the cabin, Hermione whirled around and smacked his shoulder as hard as she could muster. Tom dropped her hand and looked at her incredulously. 

“What was that for--”

“ _ Her diary _ , Tom?” Her words cut right through his, effectively shutting him up. She glowered at him, all of her pent up rage leaving her body in waves. “You kept her fucking diary?” Hermione was shouting now. She went to shove Tom by his shoulders, but he caught her wrists with ease.

“Since when did you get this comfortable questioning me?” he asked in a low voice. She watched his eyes go dark, the transformation to killer happening right before her eyes.  _ Someday I’ll learn he’s always both. _

“Since you’ve started making stupid decisions!” She tried to yank her wrists out of his grip, but he held on tightly. Tom pulled her towards him, causing Hermione to stumble. “You weren’t supposed to take anything.” Hermione’s voice wavered as she stood close to Tom, looking up into his dark eyes. 

“We never discussed any rules of my break in.”

“I thought we didn’t need to discuss the obvious issues that came with stealing items from the room of our murder victim!” His grip had loosened on her wrists and this time, she did yank her wrists free. 

“Did our entire summer of research teach you nothing?” She demanded answers from him when he flippantly rolled his eyes. Hermione needed him to take this seriously. This was serious! “This is how people get caught, Tom! By taking souvenirs, trophies, by leaving logic at the  _ fucking window  _ when they break in to someone’s room!” Her voice was positively shrill and she could see his annoyance clearly in his face. 

“I’m not going to get caught!” He had snapped. Tom’s voice was loud, booming through their little cabin. “I’m not going to get caught because  _ we’re  _ going to keep our mouths shut. If we don’t say a word, no one will know.”

Hermione found herself backpedaling. “You think,” she started carefully, “that I’m going to say something?” The laugh that bubbles out of her verged on crazy. “When are you going to get it through your head, Tom? I’m here for you!” She threw her arms out wide, palms open and body vulnerable. “I’m at your disposal and you think we’ll get caught because I’m going to rat you out? This was my idea! Mine! I said ‘let’s kill people!’. I chose Lavender! I brought her here!” Hermione ignored the way her eyes stung, the way her chest aches at the thought that Tom didn’t trust her as she did him. He stood so still, his eyes assessing her. “I’m yours. I always have been. What more do you need?”

They stood still for a long moment in silence. The quiet rustling of wind through leaves was the only sound to offer Hermione any solace. She considered turning and leaving, their deal ending right then. Tom moved, slowly shifting his weight from foot to foot and she took that as some sort of sign that he was processing—hopefully. 

“I need you to kill someone.” His voice was low and quiet, barely heard about the leaves whispering. Hermione’s heart tried to leave her chest at his words, her eyes widened and mouth dry. “I need you to be as fucked as I am; I need an equal.”

“Tom—“

“You asked me what I needed,” he replied just as quietly. “This is it. This is what I need.”

Hermione swallowed hard, mouth cotton dry and pulse racing in her ears. All she could manage was a nod. She would do anything for him. 

“You can choose the next person, too.” He states his terms. “I’ll help with all of it again. We can do it again. You just need to be the finishing strike.” Tom’s dark eyes searched her for anything, but all he got was a blank wall, an expressionless Hermione as she processed her fate. 

“Can I have time to pick?”

“As much as you need.”

“Deal.” Hermione smiled at her brother who, in turn, grinned at her. “But,” she began, “I want you to give me the journal in exchange.”

—

Hermione’s birthday came quicker than usual. Usually, she loved having a day where her family had to spend time together, where her boys had to be on good terms and friendly. This year, she wasn’t particularly thrilled about it; she was a bit preoccupied thinking about who she should have them kill next. It took up more of her thoughts than she liked to admit. 

To make it worse, Hermione found Harry waiting for her outside of Mrs. McGonagall’s class the morning of her birthday. He jumped into her pathway, blocking her entrance to class, his hands behind his back. 

“Happy birthday!” he cheered happily. He had on his happiest smile, an expression that always made Hermione’s chest warm just a fraction. Her brother may hate Harry, but he was always going to be someone she cared for. Which was why she needed to stay very far away from him.

“Thanks, Harry,” she replied politely and tried to step around him. He expertly blocked her, sliding right back into her pathway. Hermione fought the facial spasm she felt coming, trying to keep as pleasant of an expression on as possible. “I’d like to go into class—“

“I know, but I just need a moment.” He smiled sheepishly now, his iconic confidence faltering. From behind his back he brought out a rectangular item wrapped in newspaper. “The wrapping is pretty shit—I’m no good at all that—but I wanted to get you a gift.” 

Hermione felt her cheeks heat up. She was entirely conflicted. It was so endearing that Harry had gotten her something, especially since his living situation didn’t make anything like this easy, but it also made her angry. Angry that Tom would see whatever it was and target him. She couldn’t turn it down; it would be too rude. 

“Thank you,” is what she went with, a happy smile tasted on with it. Carefully, she ripped off the newspaper to find a journal. It was hardcover faux leather, a beautiful journal she could see herself using easily. Hermione stopped putting on a smile as a genuine one took over. 

“I knew you’d like it.” Harry grinned at her. “Happy birthday.” With that, he turned and opened the classroom door for her. Hermione swallowed, held the journal close to her chest, and silently found her seat. 

_ She was so fucked.  _

—

That night, Hermione’s family went to the usual steakhouse for her birthday dinner. It was pleasant, but she was distracted the entire time. All she could think about was who  _ she _ would kill and why Harry had to give her that journal. Her thoughts kept spiraling. She couldn’t keep up conversation, she barely ate half her meal, and couldn’t muster up much of a smile when the staff came and sang her Happy Birthday. 

Her parents either didn’t notice her unease or dismissed it as teenage angst, but Tom noticed everything. He watched her like a hawk, his eyes narrowing in on her every move. Hermione couldn’t even find the energy to be upset by his intensity in front of their parents. She halfheartedly ate her pie-cookie and waited to leave. 

When they all arrived at home, it was time for presents. Hermione was guided to the couch, where she sat patiently, as she was handed gifts. Most of them were books (not about murder or crime) and nice sweaters. Old Hermione would’ve gushed and loved each item, but she had to force a smile on for them all. When did she have time to read a fiction book and enjoy that now? She was too afraid to go out in a pale pink sweater in case they decided to break into someone’s house suddenly. These things didn’t fit into her life anymore. 

She put on her best Tom Smile and thanked her parents and Tom for her presents. Hermione gathered them all up and retired to her room under the excuse of having an emotionally taxing day. Her parents both smiled as she left, but Tom watched her closely. 

Hermione placed her gifts in a pile on her desk and walked straight to her bed. She sat down and stared at the blank back of her closed bedroom door. She had known for awhile now that everything would be different, but for her day to day life to feel so unfulfilled was upsetting. There was no excitement. All she felt was dread and stress and listlessness. 

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when there was a quiet knock at the door. Hermione didn’t make a noise, but it opened anyways. Tom slipped in, a dark hallway behind him. It must’ve been late evening then. He closed the door behind him and the lock clicked. Slowly, he made his way to her, his own hands behind his back. It felt like deja vu. 

“Hey,” he started carefully. Hermione hadn’t ever seen him be so cautious with her before. Was she truly freaking him out so much?

“Hey,” she replied back quietly.

Tom stopped when he stood directly before her and knelt down so he was at her level. “I know all the gifts you got today weren’t what you wanted.” Maybe he hadn’t seen the journal yet. “I couldn’t give you my real gift in front of the parents. They wouldn’t have understood.” From behind his back, Tom presented a neatly wrapped, thick rectangle. It was wrapped in reflective paper and had a purple bow stuck to it. “It was hard to find and, after buying all our supplies, I didn’t have much money left so I had to buy an older edition, but it should still do.” He nodded to her, waiting for her to open it. 

As if it was fragile, Hermione gently started removing the wrapping paper. Something about this gift already felt different. Maybe it was the boy knelt before her, his warm breath brushing her hands or the way he almost looked nervous as he explained himself.  _ Almost _ . 

Under the paper was a thick textbook titled  _ Greys Anatomy _ . Hermione flipped it open and a grin spread across her face against her control. The energy her body had been missing all day was back—she was humming with purpose. On the pages of her gift was detailed medical diagrams showing the inside of the human body. The entire book was each part of a person, breaking down anatomy. 

“It’s the go to textbook for surgeons,” Tom told her simply. “You seemed so curious about the anatomy of Lavender when I sliced her up, I figured I’d get you something you’d actually like to read.” He paused and Hermione assumed he was looking at her, but she refused to look up from the captivating book. “It breaks down the entire body for you.”

After looking at several pages, Hermione set the book next to her on the bed. She turned her attention to the boy still kneeling in front of her, a gesture she doubted he was comfortable with. Gently, she placed the palm of her hand on his cheek and he leaned into it.

“Thank you, love.” Hermione tested the word out, trying to see if any pet name felt appropriate for what he was to her. Tom’s eyes heated and her smile deepened.  _ That was a yes _ . “You know me better than I know myself, sometimes.”

“I always do,” he replied, his voice low. “I’ve known who you truly were since you came up to me that late summer afternoon about the cat.” His breath tickled her palm and she tried to ignore the warm feeling even that ignited in her. “You’ve always been mine, Hermione.”

Hermione swallowed hard, the sound audible in her quiet room. It was the truth, wasn’t it? This wasn’t some temporary fling like the relationships their peers had at school. They were the real deal, two parts of one soul that had found each other so young. Hermione couldn’t imagine loving anyone else. Maybe in another life she would have dated Harry Potter, let him court her and take her to dances and come to her birthday dinner. But this wasn’t that world. Hermione belonged to her step-brother, to a murderer, to Tom. 

“I love you.” She whispered it quietly, afraid of the truth, but he needed to know. Her chest ached as the words left and ached even more at the way his eyes dilated before burning into her. 

Tom launched from his crouch onto the bed, over her. He didn’t kiss her, but he threw Hermione onto her back and stared down into her honey eyes. Tom was panting, lips dry and one hand tangled in her unruly curls already. Hermione stared up at him, her bottom lip stuck between her teeth. Her heart was racing. She was a big girl now, right? She knew what she needed to say to get what she wanted from Tom. 

“Please,” she whispered so quietly, her words only loud enough for him to hear. Hermione licked her lips and pouted up at her big brother. “I’m all yours.”

That’s what did it. Tom’s mouth found her in a series of messy, open-mouthed kisses that left her moaning into him. His tongue dominated hers, explored her mouth and made it his home. Hermione would’ve been worried about being quiet, but his mouth muffled her moans, each one resulting in a growl from her counterpart. His hand in her hair yanked and tugged and left her breathless. She loved the pain--the dull ache it left on her scalp and the fact that she would still feel it in the morning.

When his mouth left hers, she let out a disappointed groan. Tom’s smoldering black eyes searched her face, taking in her swollen lips and messy hair. Before Hermione could get out a complaint, he latched his teeth onto her earlobe, nipping and tugging on the sensitive skin there. Without Tom’s mouth to quiet her, a moan began to leave her open, panting mouth at a volume that was highly inappropriate. He quickly slapped a hand over her mouth, muffling the sound that turned into a shriek of delight. The place between her legs began to pulsate as her face stung. Hermione didn’t miss the moment Tom stilled, taking inventory of her reaction, before returning to working kisses and bites from her ear down her sensitive neck.

Hermione had read romance novels before; she had always been a curious girl. They had never seemed too thrilling—always more focused on sex scenes than the vague plot the book had. She hadn’t understood how so many of those novels existed, not until then. Tom’s teeth grazed her neck and she moaned against her brother’s calloused hand, the hand that had killed Lavender just the previous weekend. The thrill of being wanted, of having the man of your dreams over you, his teeth at your throat where he could ruin you at any moment. Hermione thoroughly understood their appeal now.

She put one of her hands in his hair, twisting through the dark strands and pulling hard. Hermione pulled Tom’s head back so he had to look at her, his burning eyes meeting hers. With his head raised, she released his hair and moved both hands to his chest. Hermione quickly moved her fingers to the bottom of his shirt and started tugging it off of him, over his chest, over his shoulders. Tom held her gaze—almost questioning her—but finally let her remove his shirt. She tossed it aside, somewhere by her pillows, and smiled proudly up at him. Biting her lip, Hermione ran her eyes over Tom’s lean chest, taking a moment to truly appreciate what was  _ hers _ .

“Is there anything else you’d like to give me for my birthday?” Hermione asked coyly, her bottom lip jutted out in a pout. She looked up at her brother through her eyelashes, trying her best to be convincing. She wanted him to  _ touch _ her. Just thinking about his touch made her rub her thighs together, a quiet sigh leaving her mouth. 

Tom leaned in close, his mouth mere inches from hers. “I told you how this works, did I not?” he breathed, his nostrils flared and eyes ablaze. Hermione could feel his breath against her face, feel the heat of his skin radiating against hers. She felt like she was on fire and he wasn’t even touching her. “You tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you. I’ll give you the whole fucking world, Hermione.” He took one finger and traced it down the side of her face slowly, running over her temple, her cheek, her jawline. “Just say it.”

Hermione swallowed hard. Where his finger touched her left a trail of scorching flesh. If she didn’t know better, she would’ve sworn she was about to combust. “I want you,” she took a deep breath, “to fuck me.” She met his burning gaze with her own, smiling at the way his mouth opened just slightly. Hermione knew plenty about sex--she had read up on it before. Back when the boys had started talking about it, she had done everything she could to learn about sex. Now, she just needed to apply that knowledge. That was how it worked, right?

Tom stared down at her for a moment before sitting back on his heels. His hands moved to his pants where he unbuckled his belt, but instead of moving to his pants’ zipper, he pulled his belt out of the belt loops. His momentary, stupid teenage boy expression was gone and her monster was back. 

“Do you trust me?” His voice was low and quiet. Without even thinking, Hermione found herself nodding. Tom’s hands grabbed her wrists and yanked them above her head, taking her breath away with the motion. Before Hermione could piece any of it together, Tom was wrapping his belt around her wrists and tightening the leather. Her wrists were bound together; she tried tugging them apart to test his work. She sent him a questioning look, ignoring the deep aching she felt now. All her brother did was smirk down at her. 

“Don’t move these.”

He was moving again. Tom was off the bed, standing between Hermione’s knees. His hands made quick work of her pants, unbuttoning and unzipping them. Her breath hitched, arms twitching in response but she forced them to stay above her head on the bed. Tom looked at her and held her gaze as he grabbed the waistband of her jeans and began yanking them off of her. She did her best to work with him, to lift her bottom and move with him, but he was a force to be reckoned with. He quickly tossed them aside. With his hungry eyes, he stared down at Hermione. She felt vulnerable, laying exposed on the bed for him in her pink, cotton underwear.

Tom took his time before continuing with his plan. He crouched down again, pushing Hermione’s knees wide. Hermione couldn’t completely see what he was doing without lifting her arms with her to look at him and she refused to risk angering Tom. All she knew was he was still, his chin on the bed. She was pretty sure he was just  _ staring _ at her. After what felt like eons, his hands moved to her hips and slowly pulled her underwear down. Hermione let out a hiss of surprise as her flesh was met with cold air, her underwear making it down her thighs, down her calves, completely pulled off.

Instead of doing anything Hermione had expected, Tom crawled over her, a wicked grin on his lips as he fisted her underwear. Once he was completely on top of her, Tom lowered his mouth to kiss her once more, another messy, open mouthed kiss. When he pulled away, she was left gasping for air. Right as she took a deep inhale, Tom took her underwear and pushed it into her mouth with two fingers, smiling cruelly down at her.

“We’ve got to find a way to keep you quiet, don’t we?” His eyes flashed and he pulled back even farther, returning to his position down between her legs. Hermione repositioned the underwear in her mouth as to not gag on them and tried to ignore the urge to let her eyes roll shut.

Without any prompting, Hermione felt something brush her cunt. Her head shot up and she locked eyes with Tom, who was watching her with a smug smile. His fingers gently brushed her skin, exploring their new territory. Her breath caught--muffled by her own underwear--and she realized he was actually going to give her what she wanted. Electricity raced through her body, her hips jerking at his touch. 

Tom’s touch moved past gentle as two of his fingertips pushed past Hermione’s folds. She sucked in air, tongue dry against the cotton of her underwear. Her hips moved of their own accord, experienceless and desperate for touch. Tom’s other hand found her hip and pushed down, holding her in place. His two fingers pulled her folds apart and he tilted his head in curiosity. Hermione felt her entire face flush as he began inspecting her body. This wasn’t what she had requested! She was about to spit her improvised gag out when one of Tom’s fingers brushed her clit, the bundle of nerves that seemed to be the key to any pleasure in her life. At his touch, Hermione’s body tensed and she let out a groan. Something carnal flashed in his eyes and it made her feel like her entire body was on fire.

He pinched her clit lightly between his thumb and finger, rolling it. With each movement, Hermione’s hips tried to jerk more, straining against Tom’s hold on her. His smirk was long gone as he grinned at her, fascination and hunger permeating him. Tom stopped playing with her clit, resulting in a disappointed groan from Hermione. Before she could make any more noises of complaint, she let out a hiss as one of Tom’s fingers slid inside of her wet cunt. Her insides clenched around him, her eyes squeezed shut. He held his finger still as her body processed something entering it for the first time. Slowly, Tom began working her with his sole finger. He moved it in and out of her, watching as her body relaxed. It wasn’t long before he slipped in another finger. Hermione didn’t still this time; she let out a sigh.

She watched Tom with lidded eyes as he moved his fingers in and out of her. Once she seemed comfortable, he began exploring inside of her. Tom turned his fingers around as he fucked her slowly. Hermione felt him watching her expression, looking for any sign of preference. She didn’t think anything would be different if he changed the angle of his hand until he moved his hand  _ just right _ . Her eyes shot wide open and she let out a muffled cry. His dark eyes seemed to glow; his lips parted as he breathed heavily.

Tom moved his fingers quicker and harder, striking the same spot that had made Hermione cry out over and over. She could feel pressure building inside of her, a deep, searing need for Tom’s hand to move  _ faster _ . Hermione forgot where she was, forgotten they were hiding away inside her childhood bedroom. She was too enraptured in Tom and his hands and how much she loved him. 

Tom released her hips and moved his hand to her clit, his thumb running over her bundle of nerves in quick, effective circles. Hermione’s eyes rolled back and she clenched them shut, clenched all of herself as she tried desperately to cling on to the amazing feeling that was pulsing through her body. It was like all of her was on fire, but she  _ loved _ it. She wanted more. Whatever was building inside her was about to burst and she wanted it bad. She began jerking her hips against Tom’s hand. They were messy movements, throwing Tom’s rhythm off, but he didn’t stop her. When Hermione opened her eyes, her brother was staring down at her ravenously. He wasn’t looking at her face, but was enthralled in her fucking herself on his fingers.

As her movements got more uneven, Tom took control back of their rhythm. He moved his hand faster, drilling into Hermione at a mind numbing speed. After a few more flicks of his thumb on her clit, the pressure building inside Hermione snapped and she let out a strained shriek, muffled but still loud enough that Tom quickly moved his hand from her clit to cover her mouth. Hermione shuddered as she rode out her orgasm on his fingers, his hand lazily pumping away as she twitched around him.

She opened her eyes to find Tom staring down at her intensely. He pulled his fingers out of her cunt, a wet sound accompanying it. Hermione felt her cheeks heat, but she knew she turned bright red when Tom brought his two fingers to his mouth and  _ licked them _ . Her breath caught in her throat as she watched him taste her, his tongue wrapping around his own fingers in an obscene manner.

Hermione picked her arms up and held them out, pushing them towards him. He seemed displeased that she wanted out, but he made quick work of the belt and released her. Hermione pulled her underwear from her mouth and gave her brother a lazy, satisfied smile. 

“Don’t you want a turn?” She pulled her brother farther up the bed, surprised that he allowed himself to be moved at all. He seemed to be in a daze and pride swelled inside her chest. Hermione pushed him onto his back and undid his pants. She was determined to do this before her courage ran out. Hermione yanked them down his thighs along with his boxers. 

She had known, of course, that Tom had a dick. She just hadn’t taken much time to consider what it would look like. Hermione found herself kneeling next to her step-brother on her bed, his erection standing tall. Tom was gifted in the size area, at least from what her research had led her to believe. She wrapped her hand around his shaft and a hiss left his lips. Hermione quickly looked up at Tom to find him watching her ravenously, his lips parted still as he tried to catch his breath. Returning her attention back to her work, Hermione slowly moved her hand up his shaft, feeling the way the skin moved with her hand. He twitched in her hand and she felt a smirk settle on her lips. 

Acting fast enough that she couldn’t question herself, Hermione lowered her lips to the head of his penis. She heard Tom hiss again and knew she was doing something right. Hermione placed a soft kiss at the tip and carefully wrapped her lips around him. He tasted salty, a little bit of liquid already gathered there. She ran her tongue along the underside of the head and felt a shudder rack his whole body. She could do this.

Hermione worked her lips farther down his shaft, ignoring the way her eyes watered as the head made it farther back. With a deep breath in through her nose, Hermione began to slowly move her mouth up and down, dragging her tongue along the underside of his shaft. Tom wasn’t just hissing now; he let out a string of quiet curse words and one of his hands found its way into Hermione’s hair. His hand was fisted there, yanking the way she loved. Hermione snuck a glance up at him through her lashes to find him watching her, his gaze all-consuming. She gave him a good suck and watched as his head tilted back against her bed frame, his entire body shuddering.

“I’m going to…” His words trailed off, but Hermione got the message. She was pretty sure she knew what happened next. Hermione kept working him the same way in her mouth—since it had been working before. She watched him as she sucked hard, swirling her tongue against the spongy tip of his cock. Tom’s body stilled and then jerked hard, his cock hitting the back of her throat. Something warm flooded her throat and Hermione did her best to swallow it all, hoping it was okay to do so. She watched as her brother’s hips made their own small jerking motions into her mouth, as his mouth stayed open, as he picked his head up to watch her swallow.

Tom used his grip in her hair to pull her up to his face. It wasn’t a hard enough yank to actually move her, but Hermione moved as if it was. When her face was right before his, he let his eyes run over her features for a moment. Hermione soaked in the warm feeling washing over her. 

“Say it again,” he rasped.

“I love you.”


	13. Chapter Twelve - The Hunter and The Hunted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y’all! Back to weekly updaaates! This one is a bit shorter, but it does what I need it to! I hope y’all are doing okay out there, are fighting the system however you can, and are experiencing good health :)
> 
> I don’t own Harry Potter, but neither does JKR so it’s pretty up in the air right now.

Days came and went and Hermione continued to struggle to find their next victim. No one stood out like Lavender had. No one was shoving her face into lockers and tormenting her. It had been so easy before, Lavender had given herself over on a platter! Now Hermione had to decide people’s worth, to nitpick their existence and decide if she wanted them to be the next body tied to their chair. 

It was simple to say that her task was at least a little difficult. 

A week had passed since her birthday and all she had was a notebook filled of scratched out named. She would pick a person, pay extra attention to them, and scratch their name out for one reason or another. The task had gotten so overwhelming that Tom had even understood when she started skipping out on their lunches to observe more students. 

That was what had led Hermione to sitting alone in a different hallway, quite a few yards away from the soccer player Cho Chang and her group of friends. She stayed focused on her notebook, only watching the gaggle of girl’s from her peripherals. The rumor mill was full of information on Cho—usually spread by the late Lavender—but Hermione knew that all needed to be taken with a grain of salt. She didn’t look like the Queen Bee type she had been on the lookout for. No, Cho seemed friendly and warm, albeit closed off. She giggled with her friends, blushed at compliments, discussed her decent grades. That was going to be another name off the list—

“Hey, there.” The voice snapped Hermione back into reality where she quickly closed her notebook. She followed the voice to find a guy standing next to her, looking down at her spot on the ground. He had a wide grin, blond curls, and broad shoulders. Hermione imagines most girls would find him attractive. 

“Hello,” she replied shortly. She blinked up at him, wondering why her obvious alone time had been shattered by his existence.

“You looked like you could use some company.” She didn’t. “I’m Cormac.” He sat next to her—a little too close—and kept his friendly smile on. Hermione didn’t recognize him, but given the school football shirt he had on, she assumed he was on the football team. “You’re Potter’s girlfriend, right?”

Hermione choked on her own spit. It took her a moment to gather herself before she looked at him incredulously. “No.” Her voice was firm. “I’m his friend, but that’s all.” Something about him unsettled her. If he thought she was dating one of his teammates, why was he here? Did people just hang out with their friends’ girlfriends they didn’t know?

“Ah.” His smile changed shape into a smirk. His body was turned in, his full attention on her. “Thank you for clearing that up. It’s Hermione, right?” She didn’t like the way his blue eyes held her gaze. It wasn’t with the same intensity as Tom’s, but there was something there and Hermione hated that she couldn’t put her finger on it. Was she just being paranoid? The school already had two monsters. There was no way there could be any other shifty kids around.

“Yeah.” Hermione did her best to sound uninterested. All she had to do was get rid of him. She glanced at her closed notebook and quickly shoved it into her backpack. “I’ve gotta go. It was nice talking to you—“

“Cormac,” he reminded her. He stood and offered her a hand up. Hermione begrudgingly accepted the harmless gesture. She didn’t want to be out right rude by ignoring his chivalry. His hand was so much larger than hers; it made her feel small, almost weak.

“Thanks,” she mumbled as he helped her to her feet. She quickly swung her bag on and hurried down the hallway. Hermione had to fight the shudder The accompanied the chill running up her spine. She really needed to stop overreacting. 

—

“Any luck today?” Tom asked lightly as he exited through their home’s slider doors. Hermione was in the backyard lying on a large blanket on the grass. She had an entire study session set up for herself. Her notebook was out with three different colored pens and their color coordinated highlighters.  _ Grey’s Anatomy _ was spread open and she was busy reading, fingers running over a medical diagram of the muscles in the throat. 

“None,” she murmured without looking up. “Cho Chang would be too missed.” Hermione was completely enthralled in her gift. The book went everywhere with her, she slept with it on her nightstand. Even Tom couldn’t take her attention away from it. 

“Everyone is going to be missed,” Tom snorted. He joined her on the blanket, a book on hunting large game in his hands. “You care far too much.”

Hermione shook her head. “I care just the right amount.” She still didn’t look away from her used book even though she could feel his eyes on her. She took a moment to scribble a note in the margin before taking a more thorough note in her notebook. “This is how we don’t get caught. My caring is going to keep your ass safe.”

“My ass was doing just fine before you joined in,” Tom replied confidently. “Feeling all this—“ he motioned vaguely to her “—stuff that you feel? It complicates things. Not feeling makes it all the better.”

A huff left Hermione as she set her pen down a little too hard. “Excuse me?” She glared at Tom. “‘Doing just fine’?” she quoted him before scoffing. “You were killing cats for a thrill. If you’d like to go back to that, just let me know and I’d be more than happy to let you. But feeling?” A smile she didn’t recognize the feeling of settled in her lips. It felt cold, uncomfortable, right. “Feeling does make it better.”

Tom looked at her for so long that Hermione was afraid she had said something wrong. He reached out and grabbed a fistful of her hair, causing her to cry out quietly. He yanked her face towards his, forcing her to sit up, and kissed her slowly once. Hermione smiled lazily as he pulled back and ran his scorching eyes over her flushed face.

“I’m never going back to cats.”

—

Hermione’s next victim pool idea was the school burnouts. She spent her next lunch hanging out on the bleachers, lounging about with her notebook out. The burnouts didn’t seem to know she was above them, listening to their loud, clumsy conversations as they passed a blunt around. Luckily, she could recognize most of their voices and didn’t need to watch them for this bit of research. 

“Lee, that’s so fuckin’ smart!” One of the two Weasley twins laughed. Hermione could never tell them apart, but that didn’t matter. They were a unit in society and she knew better than to choose one of them. If one died, she doubted the other would rest until he knew how. They did not need that following them around. But a different pothead disappearing into the ether? She was frustrated she hadn’t thought about it before. 

Lee let out a wheezing laugh. “I know, right?” There was a lot of movement. “Dude, we’ve gotta, like, do something! My parents never leave town like this!”

“You should throw a party!” That was Seamus.

“Is there enough time to put this together?” Lee asked, concern coloring his voice. 

“Totally,” the twins said in an alarming unison. One of them continued. “It’s only Tuesday! We can have everything ready for Saturday! Start spreading the news!” 

“Hell yeah,” Lee cheered. Hermione quickly took note of that information. A party was always a good cover for murder, right?

“Hey!”

Hermione quickly caught herself, the nearby voice startling her so much that she almost rolled off the bleacher she was laying on. She looked up to find Cormac climbing the bleacher steps toward her with his stupid, bright smile on again. His smile showed perfectly straight, white teeth peaking past his pink lips. His features were softer than Tom’s, no sharp edges, but hard nonetheless. 

Hermione held back her sigh and smiled back at him as she sat up.“Hello,” she said yet again. What the fuck? She was on the opposite side of campus from the last time he had found her. 

“Mind if I sit?” Hermione opened her mouth, but the guy was sitting before she could even get a sound out. She pushed her notebook into her backpack and awkwardly glanced at Cormac. “How’s your day been?”

She fought the urge to groan. “It’s been pleasant. How about yourself?” She used her pleasant voice and trained smile, hoping her eyes at least matched her expression slightly. 

“Any day is a good day when you find yourself in the company of a pretty girl,” he replied smoothly. 

Not expecting that answer and wanting to flee, Hermione stood quickly. Cormac stood as well, his body blocking the easiest way out of the row of bleachers they were in. She knew her pleasant expression was gone, that she was now all wide eyes and stiff shoulders. Hermione was suddenly very aware they were alone at the football field, no one but the stoned burnouts down below them around. 

“I’ve got to get—“

“There’s still plenty of lunch left,” Cormac told her calmly. His smile felt condescending—his teeth now dangerous—and Hermione wished she had Tom’s knife on her. She could kill someone, but was afraid of being alone with a boy. She hated feeling afraid, feeling less than, feeling  _ weak _ . 

“I know, but my class is on the other side of—“

“How about I walk you?” He took a step back, giving Hermione room to breathe. She was over exaggerating. Everything was okay. Even his smile seemed genuine, no menace or ill intent attached. 

After a few deep breaths, Hermione nodded. She followed Cormac down the bleacher steps and back into the main part of the school. He kept up small talk and she did her best to follow it, still shaken up by what she had imagined had happened. 

—

With another murder coming at some point, Tom and Hermione decided to restock their murder tools. The two of them walked around the hardware store, Hermione pushing the cart as Tom let his fingers brush over items.

“Did lunch today offer any help in your decision making?” he asked carefully, his wording as vague as he could make it.

Hermione hummed. “Yes.” She stopped the cart and started measuring out lengths of rope. “I think I’ve finally gotten a lead.”

Tom came up next to her, his eyes watching her hands closely. She didn’t miss the way his tongue flicked out, quickly wetting his lips. “That’s excellent news.” She felt pride swell in her chest. “I’ve been missing you at lunch.”

The rope got bundled and tossed into the basket. She sent him a smile. “I’ve been missing you, too.” She paused. “But not those idiots you keep around.” Hermione laughed as Tom gave her an annoyed look. 

“You know they’re useful.” He glared at her as they went down another aisle. They wanted to find coveralls. “Lucius’s father is mayor. If we ever get into any trouble, he will keep us in the clear. We need those oafs.”

Hermione eyed a box cutter on an endcap display and added it to their cart. She had some birthday money to spend. “Fine, Lucius is useful. What about Severus? He just sulks.”

“Family ties to good universities,” Tom replied simply. “Plus, he’s taken those college chemistry classes for fun. That might come in hand sometime.” 

They stopped walking as they found the coveralls. It took a moment for them both to find their sizes, but once they had, they placed them both in the cart.

“And the other idiots?”

“They all have little connections.” Tom shrugged. “We may never use them, but I like to have plans prepared just in case.”

Hermione smiled as she listened to her brother. She may get annoyed by Tom’s friends, but knowing he was using them all as backup plans for them both made her chest swell. He was taking care of them the best way he knew how. Maybe she’d pay those boys a bit more attention. She could bring them muffins (store bought, of course) or something of the sort. 

They went to the register to find some girl from Tom’s grade working. Hermione wasn’t sure her name, but it was obvious she knew Tom. Instead of annoyance pinging inside of her, Hermione felt grateful. They hadn’t been as discrete as they had been on their first shopping trip. Hopefully no one would think odd of their purchases, but with their cashier wrapped up in blushing for Tom, they were in the clear. Hermione smirked and kept to herself the entire transaction.

“Have a nice evening!” The girl told Tom excitedly. Hermione rolled her eyes once her back was to the girl. They walked out of the shop together and Tom’s smile morphed from sweet into cruel. 

“‘Have a nice evening’,” Hermione snickered. Tom sent her a heated look and she prayed to their nonexistent God that he would sneak into her bed later. 

—

“I hear there’s a party happening this Saturday.” The voice speaking belonged to Cormac, even though Hermione wished dearly that it didn’t. Hermione was spending yet another lunch up in the bleachers, trying to obtain as much information as she possibly could about her victim pool. She did her best to control her expression, to keep her eyebrow from twitching, and not to smack the nuisance she had managed to find. By the time she had made it to the bleachers, Cormac had already been seated up on the same row they had been on the day before, waving down at her. 

She really needed to find them a victim. 

Setting her notes aside, Hermione unpacked her sandwich and took a bite. 

Cormac cleared his throat. “Would you like to go with me?”

Hermione choked on the bite of sandwich she had been swallowing. She coughed for a moment before clearing her airways. She looked at Cormac incredulously. “I, uh, can’t,” she said. 

His eyes narrowed slightly. It wouldn’t have been noticeable typically, but Hermione was too used to picking up the tiniest nonverbal hints from all her time around Tom. Her gut got the same uneasy feeling as the day before. She put her sandwich back into the ziplock baggie. 

“And why is that?” Cormac asked, words clipped. Those blue eyes were storming and she wanted to be ready to run. 

“I don’t go to parties.” Hermione tried to keep her tone light and her smile warm. She held his gaze and did her best to only come across as sweet as she carefully put her notebook back into her backpack. Once it was packed and zipped shut, she was going to flee. She just  _ knew _ she had to. 

Cormac’s hand shot out and grabbed Hermione’s wrist, the one zipping shut her backpack. Her gaze snapped down to where his hand was holding on too tight, his knuckles white and flexing around her flesh. 

Hermione didn’t fight her eyebrow twitch this time. 

Swiftly, Hermione looked back up to Cormac with a pleasant expression painted on her face. She did her best to use her internal rage to ease a slight blush onto her cheeks. “But I guess I can make an exception for you,” she said softly. He was taller than her, making looking up at him through her lashes  _ so easy.  _ She gave him her best smile and felt his grip on her wrist ease. No, it wouldn’t leave bruises, but there were faint red marks. She could feel her own body humming with excitement. 

They had their next victim. 


	14. Chapter Thirteen - Sweetheart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! Sorry the chapter is a day late; I had a really hard time finding the inspiration for this one. Thanks for the patience and always coming back :) I hope you enjoy the chapter and are staying safe out there.

Hermione stayed calm. She stayed perfectly calm. The rest of the school day passed and she met Tom right outside of school per usual. She walked right up to her brother--her expression neutral--but didn’t stop as she neared him. No, instead she raised her forearm to chest level and watched as Tom’s eyes locked on the light, finger-shaped bruises forming on her sun-kissed skin. Her brother’s eyes narrowed and as he opened his mouth to question her, she walked past him. Hermione lowered her arm and started them on the trek to the woods behind the football field.

Surprisingly, Tom didn’t question her as they walked. He stayed silent, which Hermione was certain was his only other option at the moment. He didn’t take her hand once they were farther into the woods; they stayed by his sides clenched into fists. The walk felt like a breath of fresh air to Hermione after so many days of eavesdropping on students’ conversations. She ignored Tom’s building rage and soaked in the sounds of their woods, the wind whispering through the leaves, the crunching of twigs under their feet, the quiet hum of wildlife. It almost made up for how annoyed she was with Cormac.

Tom slammed the cabin door shut behind him and dropped his bag rather dramatically on the floor. He spun and focused his whole attention on Hermione, his rage palpable. “What happened?” he spit out past grit teeth.

Hermione took a moment to choose her words carefully. Whatever she said would heavily impact how Cormac was handled. She knew she should downplay the incident, ignore all her bad gut feelings and just state the facts. Being honest would only rile Tom up, unlock the feral in him. 

But something else inside her whispered to tell him everything--so she did. 

He held himself still as Hermione caught him up on the Cormac saga. Not a sound left his mouth until she finished, the last bit being her explaining the faint bruising on her forearm. She watched him process everything she had said, his mind working at a thousand miles a minute. He was calculating, planning, preparing already. 

“Are you okay?” were the first words to finally leave his mouth. He looked almost uncomfortable to be discussing her feelings. Hermione felt herself relax for the first time since lunch. 

“I think so.” She hadn’t meant for the words to come out shaky, but they did and suddenly Tom was right before her, chest just a foot away from her own. He peered down at her, eyes assessing her expression, taking in as much as they could. “I really  _ knew _ he was terrible the first lunch, but I thought I was just being paranoid. We’ve been so paranoid recently and I dismissed it. My body was right. He is terrible and I don’t know what to make of that.”

Tom nodded as he listened. “Your instincts were right. We’ve got to learn to trust them. Our bodies know more than we give them credit for.”

“I wish there was a book on that,” she mumbled.

Tom chuckled quietly and gently grabbed her chin. He lifted it, raising her gaze to his and capturing it. “You know we have to do something about that dick, right?”

Hermione nodded into his hand. “I know,” she replied firmly. “He’s my choice.”

Her brother looked almost proud as his smile flashed his teeth, eyes blazing. “Do you have a plan?” His words were controlled. He was holding himself back, trying so hard to let  _ her _ have this moment. 

“Yes, the start of one.” She leaned into his hand, his palm now on her cheek. Tom was watching her with hungry eyes, soaking up every second of her bloodlust thoughts. “The party this weekend is at Lee’s. We need to follow him home to find out where he lives. I’m sure he’ll try and get me alone sometime--” she didn’t miss the tensing of Tom’s hand against her skin “--which is when I’ll lead him here. Then we’ll both take care of him.”

Tom looked as pleased as Hermione could hope with the plan she proposed. They both knew there was no other way to get Cormac alone, not with how strong he was. It wasn’t going to be pleasant and he would probably get handsy, but he’d be dead by Sunday morning.

“We’ll have to be careful,” Hermione added. “He’s on the football team. He seems pretty strong; I don’t want us underestimating him. I want zip ties and rope binding him.”

“I’ve got something else that might be useful.” Tom didn’t explain. He flashed a menacing smile, his coal eyes still lit. Hermione didn’t bother to question him, well aware that he loved his dramatics. “I’ll just have to go visit Antonin tomorrow afternoon.”

“But tomorrow is the best time for us to scout out Lee’s place--”

“--I know,” Tom replied calmly, talking right over his sister. “You’ll be doing that alone.” He flashed her a wicked grin. “You know how to do it now. You only have to scope it out. It’ll be easier if you’re by yourself.”

Hermione’s brows furrowed, a frown settling on her lips. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll do it alone, then.”

Tom patted her cheek softly, almost condescendly. “Perfect, sister. I’ll get the extra materials and then we’ll both meet back at home for dinner. I believe we should be heading back now as well, yes?”

She looked outside the cracked windows of their cabin, the light already dimming. Fall was settling in and their days would be getting shorter. Hermione hated winter; she hated the restrictions that came with the night. 

“Yes, I guess we ought to.”

Hermione laced her fingers with Tom’s and held his hand for as long as she could within the woods. She held on tight, held onto him like he supplied her life and begrudgingly pulled away as the treeline broke and the empty football field came into view before them. In just a handful of days, they’d be looking at that field as day broke, their souls coated in sin yet again. She tried not to think about the excitement that was bubbling in her stomach.

\--

Thursday came and Hermione met it with indifference. It was supposed to be an easy day, a day where she glided through classes easily and finally got to eat lunch with Tom again. Even if they weren’t walking home together, she would give his friends the muffins she had their mother buy and pretend like she cared about them. Hermione had planned for it to be such an easy day.

She really shouldn’t have planned for anything.

First period was where the trouble started. Both Ron and Harry were giving her weird looks when she sat down at their table, but didn’t say anything to her. Mrs. McGonagall told them to all pair off into groups of two. Seamus grabbed Ron before Harry could even open his mouth, leaving him to look uncomfortably at Hermione. Typically the boys fought over her would pair with her so they could copy her work. She felt her forehead wrinkle, frowning at Ron’s back as he quickly left to work across the room with Seamus.

“Did I do something?” she demanded. Harry startled at her tone, his attention jerking up from the papers he had been busying himself with. He looked at her with wide eyes, confusion swirling in the green that resided there.

“No, it’s--it’s just, uh--”

“Out with it, Harry,” she snapped at him. Thankfully the room was filled with voices, all the students talking as they filled out questions on the reading they had done the night before. 

“There’s just been talk.” The words tumbled out of his mouth at the same rate that vomit would have left. Hermione raised an eyebrow at him and he found the will to continue. “Cormac and the team, you know, at practice yesterday. He was saying stuff--stuff about you. He, uhh, said you were his date? To a party this weekend?” Harry kept sneaking glances up at her to read her expression, as if he was hoping to find something there.

Hermione took slow, even breaths to keep herself calm. “If you are hearing things  _ about me _ , maybe next time, you should just ask me before making a complete idiot out of yourself.” Her words were even and cool, so much so that Harry sat up straight and stared at her with wide eyes. He knew he was in trouble--good. “I know Ron can be a blithering idiot, but I thought you were better than that.”

“Hermione--” her name tumbled out of his mouth and she waited for him to piece together the rest of his conversation. She really hated teenage boys. “--I just didn’t know what to say. What do you say to that? Heard you’re goin’ out with Cormac? Can’t say ‘congrats’ to that, can I?”

All she did was blink at Harry and he quickly continued. “He’s gross, Hermione! I didn’t know you and him had anything--”

“Did you ask me if I had anything going on with him?” she asked Harry carefully. More calming breaths. Harry shook his head and she held in a chuckle that belonged to only Tom. “Maybe you should start there.”

“Do...you have anything going on with Cormac?” he asked awkwardly, his eyes darting anywhere else around the room except at her.

“Apparently for Saturday night, I do.” Hermione let out a purposeful sigh. “He isn’t a very easy man to say ‘no’ to, so for Saturday night, I’m his date.”

Harry’s face turned red and Hermione almost found it sweet.  _ Almost _ . “If he’s making you--”

“It’s okay.” She cut him off quickly. She needed this date, as disgusting as she found the junior to be. “I’m going to follow through with my word and go out with him Saturday. It’ll be okay, Harry.”

He looked blatantly uncomfortable and Hermione didn’t know what to do. Maybe she shouldn’t have told him the truth, should’ve let him think she wanted to date Cormac. The idea of playing the grieving girlfriend sounded too exhausting.

“I figure I give him one really boring date and he’ll be on to the next girl.” Hermione gave him a reassuring smile. “I just wanted you to know, since he’s talking like that at your practices.”

Hermione turned their conversation to their assignment, hoping the redirection would keep Harry from taking her comment as something meaningful. She was already going to have to deal with the repercussions of choosing to kill someone so close to her, she didn’t need Harry taking her olive branch as a sign of affection toward him. 

\--

Lunch came at a very slow pace. Each class seemed to crawl by, dragging its way through Hermione’s uneventful day. People were paying more attention to her than usual, a few more glances, but it wasn’t much. She didn’t see Cormac once, which was a blessing. Hermione had classes with juniors, but they were all advanced courses and she wasn’t even sure if Cormac knew how to spell his own name.

For the first time in a week, Hermione happily sat next to Tom in their hallway. Surprisingly, his friends seemed pleased to see her, an array of different signs of happiness slipping through their expressions.

“Oh thank God--” Severus didn’t bother to hide his relieved expression “--you’re back. He’s been downright awful without you. Turns into an ass whenever you leave.”

Tom simply scoffed, but a smile broke out across Hermione’s face. “I missed you, too, Severus.” She opened her backpack and pulled out a plastic container of muffins. “I brought you all a snack. Please take one and pass them around; they’re blueberry.” She passed the container to Severus, who did as she requested. She could practically  _ feel _ Tom rolling his eyes beside her, but each of his friends seemed thrilled that Hermione had thought of them.

“This was very kind of you,” Lucius said. He unwrapped the muffin as if it were delicate. Hermione had to fight the instinct not to laugh.

“I wanted to make sure you all knew I appreciated you.” Hermione smiled sweetly at the small group. “I know you’re all Tom’s friends, but I think of you as mine as well. You’re a lot more agreeable than most people I meet.”

Even Antonin seemed pleased with the compliments she was giving them. Not too heavy, just enough for them to feel important to her. Tom had been cultivating them for years; she had a lot of catching up to do.

“I expect you to still be ready for me right after school, Antonin.” Tom’s sharp tone interrupted the nice moment, snapping everyone back to their usual roles in the group. 

“Yes, of course,” Antonin replied quickly. Something wicked flashed in his eyes, something Hermione couldn’t place. What was his importance again?

Hermione pulled out her sandwich and got an entire three bites in before someone made their way down their hallway. The moment Hermione heard the echo of footsteps, her blood ran cold. She didn’t need to look up. It was a lone pair of feet, each step heavy and confident. It couldn’t be Harry or Ron--no, they always travelled together. Besides them, students were typically uncomfortable coming down Tom’s hallway. He unsettled nearly everyone.

It was supposed to be an easy day.

“Hey, Hermione,” Cormac’s cocky voice called to her right after the footsteps stopped. He was standing just a yard away from where Tom sat. All Hermione could think about was whether or not she saw Tom’s knife at the cabin the afternoon before. Was it still there? Did he carry it on him? He couldn’t be that impulsive.

A thousand years passed in the two seconds it took for her to open her mouth. “Hello.” It came out meek and, in the same moment, Tom and Hermione both realized she was afraid of Cormac. Embarrassment and worry flooded through her. She quickly gained back control of her breathing and tried to focus on Tom’s body language. He was perfectly still—it almost looked like he wasn’t breathing. His boys were sitting at attention now as well, taking note of Tom’s slight frown. She had a whole pack of boys to worry about. 

“Is there something you need?” Tom asked coolly. “We’re trying to enjoy our lunch here.” He dusted off the knee of his jeans, nonchalantly picking up a piece of lint and flicking it away. 

“I was talking to Hermione.” Cormac sounded unbothered, words flowing easily. His attention had never left her. “Wanna go for a walk?” He flashed her a smile. 

Hermione shook her head. “I’m sorry, this is the first time I’ve seen my friends this week. Can it wait?” She didn’t miss the flash in his eyes. By the way Tom’s shoulders slightly shifted, he hadn’t missed it either. Was this boy trying to get murdered?

“I wanted to talk about this weekend with you.”

She could see she was trying his patience. Cormac wasn’t going to back down and if the stand off continued, she was afraid a brawl would begin. With a sigh, she put her sandwich back in its baggie and pushed herself to her feet. She ignored the way all the boys watched her in disbelief and especially ignored Tom’s burning gaze. 

“Fine,” she said. Hermione stepped around Tom and followed Cormac away, ignoring the knot forming in her stomach. When they were far enough down the hallway that the others couldn’t hear them, Cormac stopped. 

“That one’s your brother, right?” He shot a curious look towards Tom. “Seems a bit off.”

Hermione grit her teeth. “If you still want a date Saturday night, I’d recommend you watch what you say about my family.”

Cormac eyed her. “You know, there’s been talk about how weird it is you two are close.” He smirked at her, egging her on. 

“I’ve got at least three other options down this hallway that would love to take me to Lee’s party.” Hermione sniffed and dusted off the sleeve of her sweater. “I’ll be going now—“

The moment she took a step toward Tom and the others, Cormac gripped her wrist again. He was careful, grabbing the arm that was farthest away from her friends, but that wouldn’t have stopped Tom from noticing. She smiled pleasantly up at Cormac and tried to stay calm. 

“Are you done now?” she asked politely. 

“Fine, whatever,” he muttered and released her arm. “I can pick you up around eight Saturday night. I just need your address.”

His offer made her incredibly unpleased. Not only would he know where she lived, but that meant he planned on driving. How the hell were they going to get rid of a  _ car _ ?

Hermione took the pen he offered her and scribbled her address down on the back of his hand. It was oddly intimate; she hated it. Her throat got dry and her skin prickled. Was her body going to act up anytime she was near a pretty boy until puberty was done?

“Thanks, sweetheart.” He flashed her a believable smile and swooped down to kiss her on the cheek. Startled, Hermione was unable to dodge out of the way in time. With a smug smile, he turned and left the hallway, humming to himself. 

It was only a moment before Tom had replaced Cormac’s presence, standing near her. She shook her head, trying to shake away the atmosphere he had left behind. 

“Not too close,” she mumbled as she stared at her shoes. “The boys.”

Tom let out a quiet sound that could only be called a growl, but he kept his space. Hermione swiped away at the spot Cormac had kissed. 

“He’s got a car,” she whispered before looking up at Tom. He was livid, all his features alive with anger. She knew it shouldn’t, but it soothes her some. “There’s going to be a car.”

“Fuck.”

Hermione let out a quiet sigh and the sound morphed into a laugh. She laughed and smiled at her furious brother, trying to stifle the inappropriate sound with her hand. 

“Nothing can just be easy for us, can it?” He met her smile with his own, albeit a wicked one. 

“The villains aren’t supposed to get it easy, sister.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t think I’ve mentioned it here. I’ve been making moodboards for most chapters on my tumblr a-lover-still!


	15. Chapter Fourteen - The Beer Pong Champion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks! I skipped last week, but I’ve got a chapter today! I really hope you enjoy it. I’m going to keep trying to post weekly, but if I don’t have anything out by Thursday evening, then I’ll just wait until the following week. I appreciate the love and patience!
> 
> Also! I know this fic has a wide variety of horrifying things in this. To start with, I strongly don’t condone any of this. Second, if there’s every anything you’d like me to TW at the start of a chapter that I haven’t been, please feel free to comment it here or message me on tumblr at a-lover-still. The next couple of chapters are going to get messy again and I want everyone’s to be as comfortable as they can during all...this. :)

Hermione wanted to be able to say that Cormac wasn’t bugging her at all. She wanted to be able to brush the creep off and go about her days until the party, but she couldn’t. That would’ve been too easy. 

Cormac found her during lunch Friday with some sort of excuse to talk to her. He’d pulled her away from Tom and his pack easily. He stole five minutes of her time and gave her a swift kiss on the cheek before smugly making his exit. 

She wasn’t sure how much more Tom could handle. Each time Cormac touched her, Tom’s base level of anger seemed to rise. By Friday night, he was a ball of fury. Even their parents—who rarely noticed any of Tom’s moods—were concerned. 

“Are you sure you don’t want us to stay home?” Jean asked her daughter gently. Hermione was seated on the family couch, watching a true crime documentary absentmindedly. Jean ran her fingers through her daughter’s and patted her on the shoulder. “We can cancel our reservation—“

“It’s okay, Mom,” Hermione said. She tilted her head back and looked up at her mother, giving her a reassuring smile. “Tom’s just mad from his fight with Lucius. There’s no need for you two to cancel your date night because he’s in a mood.”

“I know.” Jean sighed. “Tom’s just rarely this upset…” She smiled sadly. “You’ll call me if you need anything? Or if he does? We’ll have both of our phones on vibrate, right Tom?”

Tom Sr. gave a grunt of approval. He gave Hermione a look, a look that meant she was in charge. She simply nodded, responding the way her step father handled best—nonverbally. He squeezed the shoulder Jean had patted and then they both went on their way. 

Hermione watched the rest of her documentary, finding herself oddly disturbed by a mother killing her three children. She didn’t understand the ethics warring inside her. It was alright for her to kill Lavender, to plan to kill Cormac, but to kill small children wasn’t alright. It wouldn’t be alright for her to kill Cho Chang, another girl their age, the age of the others they were killing. Where was the line she was drawing? Was she justifying murder because these teens—these  _ kids _ —were slighting her? When did her passionate distaste against murder dull to this settlement?

She swallowed hard and turned the television off, watching the black screen hum with electricity as it settled. Her reflection showed on the dark screen vaguely. There wasn’t a question of if she would stop recognizing herself one day, but when she would. It terrified her. 

Standing quickly, Hermione made her way out of the living room. She very much did  _ not _ want to be alone with her thoughts. In the room at the end of the hall, she had a rage-filled brother to bury her energy into. They had the house alone for the evening and she planned to take full advantage of it. 

Hermione didn’t bother knocking. She knew Tom would just bark at her to leave, so she opened the door to his room to find it dark. The room was lit solely by his computer screen, which he sat in front of at his desk as he seethed.

“Does a closed door mean anything to you?” He didn’t look away from the screen, but his typing hesitated for a second—just enough time for Hermione to know she was welcome. 

She slipped in and closed the door quietly behind herself. “What are you doing?” she asked as she padded towards him. 

Tom let out a heavy sigh. “Research on how to get rid of a truck,” he said matter-of-factly.

“You know, researching that on a personal computer isn’t the best idea.” She had closed the distance between them, but he hadn’t looked up from the computer once. Carefully, Hermione got down on her knees. A smile spread on her lips as Tom paused his typing for a moment again. 

“I’m well aware,” he snapped. “I have a program that wipes my search history every 12 hours. There won’t be a trace.”

Slowly, Hermione pushed past his legs and settled in the space under his desk, between his legs. It was cramped with his lanky, teenage boy legs, but she made it work. 

“Well,” she started as she traced a finger up his calf, “I actually had a brilliant idea—“ she stopped her hand at his thigh. Her gentle touch turned into a grab as she raked her fingers into his flesh through his pants. He let out a quiet hiss. “—about what to do with that damn car.” Hermione’s free hand moved to Tom’s crotch and she palmed his cock, semi-hard through his jeans. 

“Did you now?” His voice was still filled with anger, but the very end of it faltered as she palmed him again. His cock twitched against her hand and Hermione found herself smiling. 

“I believe—“ her moved to his zipper and played with it. “—you owe me a journal—“ she slowly unzipped his pants. “—from one partciular dead girl.” She pulled his cock out of his boxers and smiled smugly to herself. Tom was hard for  _ her _ . His hands were flexing and clenching into fists on his thighs because of  _ her.  _ It filled her with such pride to know she could give Tom that. 

Carefully, Hermione wrapped her hand around him and stroked his full length a few times. She ran her thumb up the seam of his cock, applying more pressure as a grunt left Tom’s mouth. Leaning forward, she wrapped her lips around the tip of him, well aware this was only her second time doing this. The moment his cock entered her mouth, Tom let out a loud hiss.

Hermione took more of him into her mouth, running her tongue along the underside of his cock as she slowly moved her head up and down. She tried to find a rhythm to her movements, her hand still wrapped around the base of him, moving with her mouth. 

“Fuck, that’s it, Hermione,” Tom growled. Hermione moved her mouth a bit faster, pride swelling in her chest at the sounds her partner was making. She tried to take more of him in her mouth, tried to relax her throat, but her mouth felt so small in comparison to him. 

Tom’s hands found her hair and tangled themselves in her unruly curls. She glanced up at him, barely able to see him between the desk and his lap. His face was flushed, his eyes clenched shut and mouth open. The sound of his heavy breathing was turning Hermione on more than she had ever expected. She closed her own eyes and kept sucking and licking, kept working her mouth around him. 

Things changed as Tom began to move his hips. Hermione’s eyes shot open as he began to almost fuck her face, his hips thrusting up the small of space they were allowed to. His cock moved farther back, the head causing Hermione to gag. Her eyes watered and her free hand grabbed at his thigh for support.

“That’s right,” Tom hissed. “Right there, baby, that’s it.” He pulled her head down, his cock hitting the back of her throat. Hermione did her best to relax, to open her throat as wide as possible. She hadn’t planned to spend her evening choking, but something about Tom using her mouth to fuck himself made her soaked. She moaned around his cock—a sensation he obviously enjoyed as he let out a carnal growl and began thrusting harder. 

“You like my cock, don’t you?” He yanked her hair hard, earning a cry from her that only made him thrust harder. “I’m going to fuck you senseless, baby. Right in front of Cormac, I swear to God. Fuck you so he knows who you belong to before he goes to Hell.”

Hermione swallowed hard, swallowed around the head of his cock. Saliva was running down her chin. This wasn’t supposed to be hot, she wasn’t supposed to want Tom to fuck her in front of the boy they were going to kill, but she felt like she was going to  _ explode _ if something wasn’t put in her soon.

“I’m gonna—“

Not waiting to hear more, Hermione moved her mouth quickly, moved with his thrusts. She tried to work her tongue and her hand at once. It wasn’t the most coordinated attempt, but it worked. Tom came with an echoing growl, his hands pulling Hermione’s lips flush against his skin, his cock pouring cum down her throat. She swallowed as much of it as she could. Once his grip loosened, she pulled her mouth back and stretched her jaw.

Hermione smiled to herself, pushing his chair back so he could see her. Tom looked spent, head rolled lazily to the side as he watched her with possessive eyes. Knowingly, Hermione took the time to lick his cock clean, her eyes locked with his for as much of the time as she could manage. Once she was done, she licked her lips and wiped all the drool from her chin. 

Tom leaned forward and yanked her up onto his lap. Hermione kept smiling at him and earned herself a playful eye roll. She had completed her mission. 

“So, what exactly are you planning on doing with that journal?”

—

For the first time since her death, Hermione wished Lavender was alive. Not in a “I wish I hadn’t killed her” sort of way, but Lavender has been the only girl to ever give her advice on fashion. Hermione was staring at her closet—yet again—and was at a loss. She had never been to a high school party. She wasn’t even sure what  _ options  _ of outfits she had. 

Killing Lavender had felt so much easier, which may have been because she hadn’t killed anyone before. Now, she had a thousand scenarios running through her head. What if their plan didn’t work? Cormac was actually dangerous. He could fight back; he could do her harm. It felt like he  _ wanted _ to do her harm. 

Hermione gave up on the puzzle that was the ever changing dynamic of teenage fashion. They had coveralls now, so she wasn’t too worried about whatever she chose getting smothered in blood. She tugged on a pair a nice fitting, darker jeans and the first dark shirt she could find. Cormac would just have to deal with what he got. 

After double-knotting her sneakers, Hermione made her way out of her room. In the hallway was Tom, waiting patiently. She let out a sigh and gave him a pointed look. 

“What? Are you going to glare at him from the doorway?” She snorted. “I don’t see why you’re torturing yourself with this.”

“I’m not going to go wait in the damn trees while this scumbag feels you up in his car,” Tom hissed quietly. Hermione held in her next sigh, knowing it would only add full to his fire. 

“So stand on the porch and stare at him then,” she said and threw her hands up in exasperation. “It’s just going to make him want to get more handsy.” She sent a glare at Tom that only softened when she saw how frustrated he looked. Gently, Hermione placed a hand on his shoulder. It was just enough to offer comfort, but not confuse her mother if Jean decided to leave the master bedroom. “Remember, I’m doing this for us.” 

Her words seemed to offer him some comfort as his shoulders relaxed. He unclenches his fists and walked into the living room. 

“He’ll be here any moment,” Tom murmured. He sat on the couch and flipped on an episode of one of the crime shows. Hermione could tell he wasn’t watching it, but it was a good compromise compared to his previous staring plan. She sat next to him and waited patiently.

She didn’t have to wait long. A horn honked loudly outside their house just a few minutes later. Hermione got up quickly, glanced around, and pressed a kiss to her brother’s temple. She shot him a smile as she made her way to the front door, grabbing her purse along the way. “Don’t get into too much trouble without me!”

Tom’s eyes flashed, only causing her to laugh. “He’s got awful manners.”

“And you know what we do to people with bad manners,” she responded in a sing-song voice. 

Before Tom could respond, Hermione slipped out the front door. Just as she had figured, Cormac had pulled over in front of their home, still in his truck, and had honked to get her attention. He hadn’t even turned off the car to come greet her. It wasn’t like Hermione wanted that attention from Cormac, but she was raised to believe there were certain niceties one always performed. She easily added this to the list of gross traits he possessed. 

It would only make it easier to kill him. 

Hermione walked down her driveway and let herself into the passenger seat of Cormac’s white pickup truck. The first thing he did was leer at her attire; she had probably missed the mark on “hot party attire”. He, on the other hand, was in the same type of clothes he wore every day. Why did men get to be lazy, but women had to dress up for them? Hermione has to hold in her huff. She hated high school. 

“I’m glad you still decided to come.” Cormac smiled st her and shifted his car into drive.

“I’m glad you invited me,” Hermione replied sweetly. 

“Have you ever been to a Weasley party?”

Hermione shook her head. “I mean, Ron’s told me about them. I thought this was at Lee’s?” She cocked her head, confused. 

Cormac laughed. “Well, yeah, but those twins helped plan it, so it’s a Weasley party. They had two brothers in this school before them, too. They threw amazing rangers. The twins though?” He shook his head and smiled. “They’re nuts! They throw the best parties ever. It’s gonna be a great night.” 

She did her best to smile back at him, to try and channel the same amount of excitement as him. They hadn’t planned for her to stay at the party long, but Hermione was beginning to realize she might have to put time into the event. She might have to survive the party first. 

—

The party was  _ big _ . She knew where Lee lived from her scouting, but even if she hadn’t, she wouldn’t have missed the place. The guy’s house was your average suburban home, but it was alive with people. There were Christmas lights wrapped around the entire house nonsensically and flashing. There was a keg on the lawn, two people guarding the front yard and collecting cash as people entered. The garage door was open and carless. Instead it contained three old, beat up couches with teenagers on them, passing around something they were smoking. 

Hermione surveyed the place with wide eyes. It was the perfect hunting ground. Lee Jordan’s home was near the school, the backyard facing the exact forest Hermione and Tom called home. The cabin was still a bit of a hike from Lee’s house, but they wouldn’t have to cut through any suburbs to get where they needed. It looked so  _ easy _ . 

Cormac parked his truck several houses down at the nearest parking spot. He hopped out first, but Hermione spilled her purse and took a moment to shove her odd items back into it before collecting herself. Cormac met her on the passenger side of the car and quickly grasped her hand with his. His hand was sweaty against hers as he guided her up to Lee’s house. 

“‘Ey!” hollered a particularly awkward-Looking freshman. Hermione thought his name might’ve been Colin. He was one of the two students stationed as bouncers at the front of Lee’s gates lawn. The fence was so low they could all just step over it, but the second, silent boy looked like he was on the wrestling team and ready to use that against someone. “Five bucks each!”

“Do you even get any of the cut?” Cormac scoffed as he pulled out his wallet. He slapped a ten into the first guy’s hand which earned him a grunt from the second boy. 

“That’s none of ya business.” Probably-Colin crossed his arms across his chest. 

“Let’s just go.” Hermione took Cormac’s hand and pulled him past the two freshman boys. “The twins probably just found the closest two guys that worship them and their pranks.”

“What? You don’t think the twins are legends?” Cormac eyed her. “Come on, how about the time they put that layer of glitter in Principal Umbridge’s office? You can still see flecks when you get called in!”

Hermione snorted. “If that’s what you call legendary.” She waved off the conversation. “It’s just two teenage boys causing trouble.”

They had made it inside the house. Cormac took over lead and guided them towards the kitchen, the source of all alcohol. He got them each a red cup of jungle juice and Hermione took hers without hesitation. 

“You can be such a stiff.” Cormac shook his head and took a deep drink of his cup. He wasn’t impacted by the waves of people or the blasting music. It was hard for Hermione to focus on just what he was saying. There was so much happening, so many people moving and talking and dancing. “Take a sip and relax!”

Hermione glanced down at her cup nervously. “What is this even?” She looked at the giant storage unit tub it had been scooped out of. “What the fuck is ‘jungle juice’ and why does it come in a storage bin?”

“Just a mix of stuff.” Cormac shrugged. “It’s red so...probably fruit punch and a shit ton of alcohol.”

Hermione sniffed her cup and was hit with the stench of cheap vodka. Cormac watched her intently. She lifted the cup to her lips and took a tentative sip. It was...good. It still burned, but it tasted like liquid candy. She had to get rid of that cup fast before she absentmindedly drank it. 

She did her best to keep Cormac occupied. When he wasn’t looking, she would pour her drink into his cup or other cups she found sitting around the room. Hermione knew it was an awful thing to do, but she needed to get rid of it somehow. 

The party was loud and dark. There was a constant game of beer pong going that was always surrounded by shouting spectators. She had to watch Cormac win two different rounds while being watched curiously by her peers. Her classmates hadn’t ever seen her at a party before and more than a few were intrigued by her presence, let alone the fact that Cormac kept throwing his arm around her shoulders. They couldn’t help but stare at Tom Riddle’s little sister out and about without him. She hadn’t wanted so many people to notice her, to remember her being there; it meant too many witnesses.

Once Cormac was done with the stupid game, he led Hermione out back. The slider door shut behind Hermione and she let out a sigh of relief. All the loud noise from inside was muffled by the door, only the heavy bass carrying through towards them. People lost interest in them as they moved alone in the little, ungated backyard. It wasn’t unusual for folks living near the woods to not have fences. Their town was one with the forest and Hermione loved it. 

Plus it made kidnapping people easier. 

“I’m really glad you decided to come to the party with me,” Cormac murmured. He was standing close, head tilted down as his eyes explored her face. It was too intimate for Hermione; it sent chills racing up her spine. 

“I’m happy I came, too,” she lied with a smile. She hadn’t even had a choice, really. He had forced her hand. When it came down to it, it was truly his fault he would be dying tonight. If he hadn’t violated her space, pushed her into a date she didn’t want to attend, maybe she wouldn’t have chosen him as a victim. 

Cormac brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear and Hermione held in a shudder. Such an affection gesturing coming from him felt particularly gross. He began to lean forward, lips parting slightly—

“—I have somewhere I want to show you.” Hermione batted her lashes at him, tone as innocent as she could manage. She gently bit her lip and his pupils dilated wildly.  _ Easy.  _

“And where would that be?” His words brushed over her lips and she did her best not to roll her eyes. 

“In the woods.” She gestured to the dense trees to their left. “I’ve got a...private place we can go to.” A blush crept across her skin, barely visible under the combination of Christmas lights and the moon. 

Cormac stood up straight, a smile sweeping across his face. He quickly took Hermione’s hand and placed his half empty cup on the nearest flat surface. “Lead the way, ma’am.” He winked at her and Hermione giggled. 

With his hand in hers, she led him into the woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you next time :D


	16. Chapter Fifteen - Psychobitch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I’m still alive, I promise! These updates might keep being a bit spaced out, but I’ll still be getting content out here. Hope everyone is staying safe out there! Thank you for all the kudos and comments ❤️   
> Shout out to my beta, Zee, and my friend Geekie for always helping me with my writing!

“How far is this spot?” Cormac asked for the third time. 

His tone had gone from curious to irritated very quickly. He was radiating impatience and it was making Hermione nervous. They still had at least a fifteen minute walk, but he kept trying to stop them. He was no longer holding her hand, but instead, trying to snag her by her waist. Hermione managed to keep bobbing and weaving out of his hands, but she didn’t know how long she could avoid the handsy junior. 

“It’s just a bit longer,” Hermione said yet again. “C’mon on, knock it off.” She swatted away his hands. “I don’t want to do anything with you out in these woods. Anyone could see us. I-I don’t like public stuff.” She tried to be firm, to sound sure of herself, but she was scared. She was the hunter here, but her prey was bigger and stronger than her. Intelligence only did so much and she didn’t have a damn weapon on her. 

“Okay,” Cormac grunted.

He waited another two minutes before he began his pursuit again. This time, his hands did make contact with Hermione’s waist. He quickly pushed her against a firm tree. The movement was so sudden that Hermione let out a loud gasp. She stared up at him with wide, startled eyes as he pinned her to the tree. 

“The thing is, no one is going to see us out here.” Cormac smiled his most dazzling smile down at her and her stomach churned. “This isn’t public. This is a dense forest and no one would ever look for us here.”

The way he chose his words, it made Hermione feel sick. The same type of sick she had been when she watched Tom chop off Lavender’s hands. Bile rose in her throat, but she quickly pushed it back down. 

_ No one would ever look for us here.  _

Hermione tried to push him away, but his grip on her hips was strong as steel. “Let go of me, Cormac.” When he didn’t let go, she pushed again and again. “Cormac, let me go!” Her voice turned to a shriek as she began to panic. She was going to kill him. She was going to kill him.  _ She was going to kill him.  _

That’s when it happened. Through the trees a body in all black came flying. It latched on to Cormac’s back and clung onto him. Stumbling back, Cormac left Hermione at the tree as he began trying to rip the body off his back. He couldn’t get a good grip, grasping at hands and legs, but unable to find a leverage point where he could remove the person from him.

Cormac kept shouting in outrage, but the other person didn’t make a sound. The moonlight was obscured by the trees, not offering any insight into who was riding Cormac’s back. Hermione could see the person pull their arm back, hit Cormac in the neck, and then watched as Cormac crumbled onto the forest floor.

The person that had been on his back stood and dusted himself off. As he walked closer to Hermione, her eyes were able to read his features in the dark. Sharp cheekbones, defined jaw, eyes filled with fire. She let out a sound of relief and threw herself into Tom’s arms.

Hermione could still feel the pressure of Cormac’s hands on her hips.

“What the hell was that?” Hermione asked as she pulled out of his arms. Her pulse had calmed, but she was still nervous about the guy that laid unconscious on the forest floor. “What did you do to him? Is he dead?” She looked from Cormac to Tom and back. Was she going to have to find another victim to earn his trust?

“Plan B,” Tom replied easily. He held his hand up and something metal caught the moonlight. It was a syringe. “Got Antonin to smuggle some drugs from his father. I wanted to be able to knock Cormac unconscious in case he was too much for us to handle.”

Hermione stared at her brother before a grin swept across her face. She quickly pulled Tom in for a quick kiss. “You’re brilliant.” And just like that, she turned her attention back to Cormac. “We’ve got a bit of distance to cover. We better get going.”

Tom popped the cap back on his syringe and together they dragged Cormac’s heavy body the remaining way to the cabin. Hermione found it absolutely exhausting. They pulled him by his ankles, letting his head bounce off of jutting out roots or the occasional rock. Every now and then, Cormac would let out a quiet grunt if his head hit a rock  _ just right _ and each time scared Hermione. Her pulse would pound in her ears; she realized she was actually afraid of the jock they were dragging around.

Much later than they had planned, Cormac was slumped in their bloodstained wooden chair. Zip ties bound his arms behind his back and his ankles to the legs of the chair. Tom went an extra step and used the new rope they had purchased with Hermione’s birthday money to bind his torso to the back of the chair. Hermione felt relief wash over herself as Cormac became more and more restrained. Each added layer was another layer of protection for her. It was a gift from Tom--a guarantee. No one was going to hurt her here. This was her domain.

Hermione stood back as Tom began to stalk towards Cormac’s unconscious form. “Time to wake up, sleeping beauty,” Tom sneered quietly. He stopped in front of Cormac and delivered a slap across his face so hard that it echoed through their little cabin. Hermione unintentionally flinched at the sudden sound. She had been expecting a deed that drew blood; Tom didn’t lower himself to such simple acts of violence.

“Huh.” A slow, groggy sound left Cormac’s mouth as he slowly gained consciousness. He rolled his head, then his shoulders, testing the binds he hadn’t expected to be in. Tom stood towering over him, waiting, watching as the man blinked his eyes and adjusted to the dimly lit room. 

“Hermione?” Cormac murmured. He stared right at her, which was the worst choice he could’ve made. In the blink of an eye, Tom’s open palm collided with the other side of Cormac’s face, quickly taking his eyes off of her. The slap echoed in the room again; the silence following was deafening. Somehow, the slap was the key to Cormac understanding the severity of the situation he was in.

“Where the fuck am I?” he asked slowly as he turned to look at Tom.

Tom smiled down at Cormac, smiled the same way he smiled at everyone at school every single day. “Don’t you know, Cormac?” Tom’s voice was so cold it sent a chill down even Hermione’s spine. She could see Cormac visibly shudder and it sent butterflies flying through her stomach, colliding with the frost. Hermione moved closer to Tom slowly, angling herself for a better view of the scene. She needed to watch. “You’re in Hell.”

Hermione let out a cackle which earned herself a glare from Tom. He was just so damn dramatic. “You’re in the middle of nowhere,” she scoffed. Cormac watched her with hopeful eyes. “We’re in the woods and there aren’t people around for miles.” She took two steps closer, putting herself next to Tom. Her own screams from the woods earlier played in her mind. Slowly, she crouched in front of the bound teen and held eye contact with him. “You’re going to die here.”

It took Cormac a few moments to truly process her words. She could see him going through the stages of recognition. First, his eyes widened as he realized her calm tone didn’t match the words she had spoken. Then, the meaning of her words sank in, the reality of his mortality being brought to his attention. Lastly, anger came. Anger filled his body as the stupid boy realized he had been tricked by Hermione, the girl he had planned to take advantage of. Once the red hot rage set in, she began to laugh more.

She stood and looked to Tom. “I don’t know how you’re ever going to beat this one.”

Tom rolled his eyes. “I’m sure another problem will arise for us in time. Let’s just enjoy him while we can.”

Hermione let out a hum of agreement before looking at their toys. “Who gets to go fir--”

“--I do,” Tom cut her off.

He stalked away from their prey and grabbed his hunting knife, just as he had with Lavender. Hermione stepped to the side and watched as he approached Cormac, who was showing an array of emotions.

“What the fuck is wrong with you two?” Cormac shouted at the siblings, looking from one to the other. “Is this your sick idea of a prank?” He began to strain against his bindings, his whole body writhing. “Let me out!”

The panic seeping from his voice sent electricity through Hermione’s body. She watched as Tom closed the distance between him and his target. He loomed over Cormac. His eyes ran over him, assessing his prey. The look alone triggered some instinctual fear within Cormac and his straining turned to thrashing. The chair screeched against the floor as it rocked with his movements. Tom hadn’t laid a finger on him and Cormac already looked tortured. 

His thrashing quickly came to a halt when Tom lashed out and grabbed Cormac’s chin. He held him tightly, making Cormac look up at him even when he tried to shake Tom’s hand off. 

“Look at me,” Tom hissed. His eyes darkened, turned to the deep black that Hermione was all too familiar with. Cormac paled as he stared into Tom’s eyes. He must’ve seen something Hermione didn’t. When she looked into his black eyes, her body felt like lightning had struck her. No, Cormac was nowhere near as strong as them. 

“What did I even do to you?” Cormac managed to get out, eyes darting from Tom’s cruel smile to his knife and back. 

Slowly, Tom lowered his face so it was level with Cormac’s. His cruel smile warped more, teeth peaking out. “It’s simple, really.” He spoke smoothly, as if he were explaining a basic algebra problem. “You touched my sister.”

Hermione wasn’t certain of the order the next events occurred in. Tom’s wrist snapped quickly and his blade caught the light. Cormac shouted out in pain. Blood marred his even complexion. It rushed down his cheek and his shouting continued, pained and strained. Tom had ripped his knife through Cormac’s cheek completely, stabbing a hole into his mouth. His blood ran down his neck and pool in his collar bone. Without thinking, Hermione stepped forward and dipped her finger in the puddle.

Cormac looked at her like a wild, wounded animal. 

“You should know better than to touch what isn’t yours,” Hermione told him simply. She gave him a playful smile and Cormac stared at her with absolute horror. 

She held her blood-dipped finger up and inspected it. His blood was obviously just like Lavender’s. Smooth, warm, and sticky if kept away from the source for too long. Hermione hated the sticky aspect of it. She could see the appeal to the rest of it—the metal, hard smell, the smooth way it glided between her fingers, the streaks it left as she painted a line down his cheek. Blood was a fascinating creation. Maybe she would become a doctor. 

That train of thought was for a different day, though. 

“I’m not done with him yet,” Tom grunted. Hermione looked up to her brother only to be met by a scowl. He was obviously conflicted, turned on by her experimenting but eager to continue the torture of Cormac. 

“I know,” Hermione sighed and took two steps back. “I’ll be here when you’re done. Remember to leave some for me.”

Cormac instantly screamed. Nothing had been done to him, but he was realizing the only end coming his way was death. “You two are fucking crazy!” His eyes were wild, filled with real fear that took Hermione’s breath away. “You psychobitch! What the—“

He was cut off by a new round of his own screaming as Tom hastily slashed at his arm. It was the sloppiest Hermione had ever seen Tom be. He quickly grabbed Cormac by his left ear and yanked hard. 

“If you ever talk to her again—“ Tom’s words were cool enough to send chills down Hermione’s entire body “—I’ll show you what it’s like to be eaten alive by wildlife.”

Hermione visibly shuddered. There was a slow, quiet dripping sound that filled the silence that their cabin always hosted. With no sound of downpour to accompany it, Hermione knew it wasn’t rain. It took her a moment to piece together, but as the sound turned to a slow drip, she tilted her head to look under the wooden chair. Cormac had pissed himself. 

“You’re cleaning that up,” Hermione sighed heavily. The strong smell of urine wafted to them, mixing with the metallic smell of blood. 

“That’s pathetic,” Tom hissed at Cormac. He got up in his space, his face mere inches from the younger boy. “You walk around all big, but you’re nothing special, are you?” Tom sneered. “Is that why you harass pretty girls? To make yourself feel better?” With a quick movement, Tom tipped his hunting knife diagonally across Cormac’s chest. It tore through his shirt and the skin of his shoulder. Cormac howled in pain and Hermione flinched slightly. 

“He’s being too loud.” It didn’t matter how far out they were, Hermione was constantly afraid of someone over hearing them. “Tom, come on, let’s gag him.” She moved to stand next to Tom, her hands both holding his free one. She purposely didn’t pay any attention to Cormac, ignoring his increased struggling. He was whispering her name repeatedly, as if it were a prayer and the key to his escape. 

If only he knew she worked for the devil. 

Slowly, Hermione leaned into Tom’s ears and got on her tiptoes. She cupped her hand around her mouth and whispered into his ear. “Are you going to keep your promise?”

Tom barked out a harsh laugh and continued his stare off with Cormac. He let go of Hermione’s hand and wrapped that free arm around her waist. Cormac grunted as Tom pressed Hermione against his own body, as he turned into her, as he finally turned his gaze down at her. She smiled up at him with her full lips, her honey eyes shining and eager. 

Cormac let out a shout of surprise when Tom kissed Hermione suddenly. His lips devoured hers, moving hastily. He sheathed his knife and used that hand to grab the hair at the base of her neck. Tom yanked hard and an unabashed moan floated out of her pretty lips. Hermione let her eyes roll back, let her lips stay parted and Tom set to work on her outstretched neck.

When she opened her eyes, she let them settle on Cormac’s disturbed face. Hermione’s fingers raked and yanked through Tom’s short cut hair as she held unbroken eye contact with Cormac’s simple blue eyes. He was startled—deeply disturbed—as he watched the young couple devour each other right before his eyes. Hermione could watch him processing the scene before him; he held no talent in hiding his emotions. She watched as shock, anger, grief, and fear flew through his eyes. The boy must’ve been terrified and that alone made Hermione moan again, not Tom’s teeth grazing her collarbone. 

Tom pulled back slowly and her eyes found a dangerous smile. He must’ve enjoyed showing her off because he instantly set to work on her unbuttoning her pants. Once the zipper was down, Hermione took over the task and shimmied out of her dark jeans. Not waiting for more orders, she readily pulled off her shirt as well. She stood before Tom (and Cormac) in her cotton bra and underwear, a soft blush settling in her cheeks. Her shy hands found Tom’s fly and she did away with his pants. Tom yanked off his own shirt and he walked behind Hermione. 

He repositioned them so that Tom was standing behind Hermione, who was facing Cormac. They both stared at Cormac with devils grins, one blushing significantly. With smooth hands, Tom unclipped Hermione’s bra and let it tumble to the floor. From behind her, he reached around and gently cupped her breasts. Cupping quickly turned to plucking and pinching. Hermione’s nervous blush switched to a heated gaze, her eyes locked with Cormac’s as whines left her lips. Tom played with her for a long moment, long enough that Hermione could feel his cock harden against her backside.

Once it began to twitch, Tom slid one hand down from her chest to her panties. With one finger, he rolled under the elastic band and felt her angel soft skin. He hummed into her neck, pressing hard kisses against her shoulder. Another finger joined, then another. Soon he moved his whole hand down. When his fingertips touched her clit, Hermione’s hips jerked and Cormac gagged. 

“What?” Tom began to play with her clit, making small, circular motions. Her hips continued to jerk occasionally and her whines turned to quiet moans.

“Is this what you came out here for?” Tom’s voice was so loud that Hermione swore it shook the cabin walls. It shook her. “You followed the sweet, innocent girl out in the woods to make her fuck you, right Cormac?” Hermione let out a soft gasp as Tom moved his hand farther down. First he slid one long, slender finger into her tight cunt. Hermione’s eyes rolled back and she broke her gaze with Cormac. He slipped in another finger. 

“It’s not what you think—“

“Do you think I’m stupid, McLaggen?” Tom roared over her shoulder, making her right ear ring. With each word, his hand thrust into Hermione again. She felt all of the heat in her body rush to her cheeks, felt Tom’s words begin to make sense, felt her heart  _ racing. _ “You went around the place and metaphorically pissed all over her, staking your claim.”

“Tom!” She didn’t know how he expected her to cum while he was arguing with Cormac, but she could feel it beginning to build. 

“Shhh,” he whispered into her ear before pressing a kiss against her cheek. “C’mon, come for me, Hermione.” He spoke as if he was a completely different person. With her he was almost gentle, his fingers still working inside her. “Cum for me and then I’ll fuck you, just like I promised.” Tom presses a kiss to her temple. “Doesn’t the guy deserve a show during his last few hours.”

That sparked a new round of prayers being chanted by Cormac. His words weren’t too clear, but Hermione could make out her own name and “save me”. His desperation timed with Tom’s wet thrusts into her put her over the edge. Hermione snapped her eyes shut and let out a loud moan. She grasped back at Tom, who held up most of her weight at this point. 

“Good girl,” he murmured into her ear, purposely loud enough for Cormac to hear. Hermione didn’t care. She was in a beautiful haze. “Good job, baby. Let’s get you down on the tarp now.”

Slowly, her brother lowered her down onto the tarp. He pulled her panties all the way down and laughed at how damp they were. Tom tossed them into Cormac’s bloody lap before dropping his own boxers. With a bold, crazed smile at Cormac, Tom winked. 


	17. Chapter Sixteen - Exhibitionists

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I keep hoping each time I post my next chapter we won’t STILL be in a pandemic, but it’s fucking August now so that hope is fading lol. Here’s the chapter all you nasties asked for! As I continue to struggle with writer’s block, each and every comment and kudos really does help. I want you all to know I appreciate each of you and thank you for reading! Keep looking out for your health out there and I’ll see you next time I post <3
> 
> Thanks to Zee for always editing my stuff and listening to me plot of the logistics of nasty sex. I don’t own Harry Potter, but no one does anymore so *shrug* let’s have some fun with it.

It hurt. It hurt as Tom’s cock slowly entered her. Hermione remembered Lavender talking some nonsense about the first time  _ always _ hurting, but she just thought Ron had been shitty at sex. She grimaced at the pain which only made Tom’s nostrils flare. His eyes were black coals burning, his whole body radiating heat so hot Hermione was afraid he’d leave her with burn marks.

Hermione thought it was a little fucked up that she  _ liked  _ that it hurt. Three careful thrusts in and she let out a low, throaty moan she hadn’t meant to. Tom’s eyes jumped up from her breasts to stare right into her soul. Then, he smirked down at her. How could she still feel so exposed when he already owned her entire soul?

“Oh,” he teased as he fucked her languishly, “someone likes a little pain.” Tom smirked down at her, his teeth visible for just a second past his pink lips. He moved smoothly in and out of her to his best ability, but Hermione pretended not to notice the way his cock was already twitching. He wouldn’t be able to do this for long. 

Carefully, Tom readjusted her legs. He grabbed them from behind her knees and pushed them closer to her chest, spreading her wide for him. Hermione’s eyes rolled back with his next thrust, his cock hitting a wonderful spot deep inside her. She let out another moan, but louder this time. She let the sounds leave her throat unabashedly, putting on a show for the horrified boy they still had strapped to a chair.

Cormac watched his peers (if he could call them that) fuck, watched as their movements sped up. The wet sound of their bodies colliding echoed in the empty cabin and he seemed to be turning a shade of green. Hermione could see the struggle of disgust and lust swirling on his face as he tried to come to terms with what was before him. For Hermione, it made her wetter. 

Tom kept fucking her, her nails digging into his thighs as his brow furrowed. Sweat dripped down his forehead as he did his best to keep an even tempo to his movements. Hermione could see him struggling not to come, to fight the wave of euphoria that wanted to take him before she had the chance to cum. She was moaning and writhing beneath Tom, but she wasn’t  _ there  _ yet. She tried working with him, rocking her hips against Tom, but it only made him let out a sharp hiss. God, Hermione knew she was close, the tightening, the toe curling, the way her body was so tense her limbs were shaking and—-

Then Tom came. He came with an angry shout and three hard, definitive thrusts. He came inside her, warmth seeping inside her that only made her cunt throb even more. She couldn’t help the moan of discontent that left her mouth, couldn’t stop the way her hips kept milking him as he watched her with dark eyes. Hermione couldn’t tell if he was pleased or enraged; his expression was perfectly neutral. 

Hermione was at a loss. In the big picture, she didn’t care that she hadn’t orgasmed. Sure, she was frustrated, but she wasn’t going to be upset with the boy who owned her  _ soul  _ for that. What could she do though? Comfort him, in front of Cormac? Did Cormac know what had happened? The last thing they needed was Tom getting embarrassed right before Cormac.

The silence that had settled over the cabin after the sounds of them fucking only lasted a moment. It felt like an eternity—long enough for Hermione to consider every fucking possible outcome—but it did end. Cormac’s cracking, teenage boy laughter burst from his body and filled the room. It was blatantly juxtaposed to the explicit acts the room had come to witness, making a mockery of the work they did, of how seriously they took themselves. Intertwined in each other in the dim light of their father’s camping lanterns, the two siblings truly seemed like two children just making a mess. All her notions of immortality were gone, thrown aside as she slowly looked up at the mean football player who bullied them even as he faced death. 

“I can’t—“ Cormac choked on his own words through his laughter. “Fuck! You couldn’t even—you couldn’t—you can’t even fuck your own sister right!” A louder spell of laughter ripped through him, shaking his body. Even the chair seemed to be mocking them, screeching against the floor as it moved with Cormac. 

All the laughter, the screeching, the desperate gasping for air between cruel jabs and eyes lingering too long on her bare body. It was all too much, all too loud, all just enough to—

Hermione had never  _ actually _ shoved Tom with any real force before, but she did then. She shoved Tom off to the side of her, the furious boy frozen in a sense of embarrassment he had never had to face before. A mix of their bodily fluids dripped slowly down the inside of her left leg, warm and grounding. She was no fool; neither of them were. 

Just as her brother had earlier, Hermione stalked toward Cormac. He was too busy laughing, his eyes brimmed with tears as he made jokes at their inexperience. She stopped down and grabbed her metal bat with one hand. Twisting it in her palm, feeling it’s weight, Hermione tuned back into Cormac’s mockery. 

“Y-you’re fucking your  _ sister  _ and you can’t even last  _ five god damn _ —“

_ Crack! _

Cormac’s hysterical laughter was cut off abruptly as the metal bat connected the side of his right knee. The crack echoed through the cabin like thunder, reverberating back into Hermione’s palms. His scream followed suit. She watched with empty eyes as pain and shock washed over his face, all the laughter wiped clean. His kneecap was at least broken by the looks of it—if not shattered. It was misshapen with blood running down the side the bat had actually struck.

The tight, pleasurable feeling in between her legs had faded and was replaced by an angry, raging fire in her gut. Stuck in her mind’s eye was the split second where she had seen disappointment flash through Tom’s eyes. Their first time was supposed to be  _ wonderful _ . It was supposed to be hot and loving and passionate and this fucker had made Tom feel incompetent. Hermione had never seen anyone make Tom feel incompetent. She was going to fucking kill him. 

Without another thought, Hermione pulled the bat back and swung again. Like a message sent from God, the  _ crack!  _ was more an experience than a sound. It made her entire body hum as she broke his forearm. Pulled back behind the chair, it was just at the right angle to snap the bone completely. It strained against his skin, trying to break free of his body. The anger in her gut boiled to a demented form of excitement as laughter bubbled out of her red, swollen lips. 

“I would tell you to never talk about my brother again—“ Hermione swirled the bat once, purposely taunting the boy who had treated her like a goddamn toy. “—but it’d be of no use since you won’t be leaving here alive.”

His screams went on for what felt like eons. With each swing came another  _ crack! _ until those were muffled by the wet sound of blood. Broken bones jutted through toned muscle and skin, blood pooling on the floor of their cabin once more. It collected slowly, rolling down his limbs and dripping down their wooden chair, down to the floor. Even after his screams stopped, the now dull  _ thud _ of bat-meeting-flesh continued to fill the room. Strike after strike, Hermione beat the limp, lifeless body before her. She continued long after her palms started aching and her shoulders began to protest. She kept pulling back and unleashing the now-dented bat until firm hands settled over her blood splattered ones. Tom’s hands wrapped around hers and slowly pulled the bat from her grip. Hermione let him take it, her shoulders finally dropping. 

“He’s dead.” His words were obvious, but his tone held the key. It offered some reprieve, offered her the support she needed. Killing Lavender hadn’t ruined her like this. Killing Lavender had felt easy—had been physically taxing at most—but never this emotionally draining. Hermione felt like she had run an emotional triathlon, yet they still had so much to do. 

With Tom’s warm arms around her naked, bloody form, Hermione looked at the body bound to the chair before them. She couldn’t believe she had been the one to do that damage. His body was absolutely broken, no limbs left unbroken and no kindness given. Cormac could’ve been hit by a sixteen-wheeler and it would’ve been a less damaging death.

“I did that.”

“Yes you did.” Tom turned Hermione to face him. Instead of the neutral expression she had been expecting, she was met with burning passion. Warmth swept through her chest instantaneously. “You killed him for  _ me _ . No one has ever done something so…”

“I’d do it again,” she told him quietly, not leaving him to find the words to explain emotions he could barely handle. “I didn’t even have to think about it.”

“I know.” He wiped a streak of blood from her cheek. “You proved yourself tonight.” Tom paused as he looked over her, naked and bloody. “If we didn’t have so much to do, I’d fuck you again right here.”

Hermione let out a whine. “Why did you have to mention it if you weren’t going to do it?”

Tom smirked at his sister. “I like the anticipation.” He tucked a strand of her matted curls behind her ear. “We need to get started.”

With a quick glance around the room, Hermione assessed the damage. They had planned ahead and bought coveralls, but she had murdered Cormac naked. His DNA was all over her. It was all over the cabin. They had his large body to dismember and his truck to retrieve. 

“This is the part that sucks,” Hermione muttered.

Tom hummed in agreement as he approached the body. He reached right into Cormac’s wrecked shorts and pulled a set of keys out. With flare, Tom waved them once in the air before turning to find his own pants. “I’ll go get the car and all that. Can you handle everything here?” He shot her a curious look as he pulled on the clean jeans he had set aside. 

“Yeah.” Hermione eyed the body and grimaced. “I’ll get to removing the identifiers.” With the blinding rage out of her body, facing death was much harder. She didn’t notice as Tom finished dressing, already releasing the body from its binds. It slumped off the chair and hit the ground hard, moments after the cabin door closed again. 

Nothing like being alone with the still-warm corpse of the boy who was close to assaulting you in the woods. 

Hermione cursed under her breath as she weighed Tom’s knife in her hand. She had studied for this. She knelt next to Cormac’s body, his left arm pulled away from his torso. For a moment, Hermione just stared down at his wrist. It was warm, albeit the color was fading. Blood was still leaking out of his body, mixing into a mud on the floor.

Decisively, Hermione dragged the serrated tip of the knife against smooth skin. It sliced like butter, working through the top layers of skin and pulling blood forth. The air already smelled metallic and heavy, but the deeper she worked the blade, the worse the smell got. She guided the knife downwards, through tendons and between the bones in the wrist. It was still a jagged, unskilled cut, but it was no longer the disgusting hack job Tom had done before. No, in half the time it took before, Hermione ripped through the final layers of skin. She pulled away a fully severed hand, blood still dripping drop-by-drop to the cold floor. Swallowing down the bile rising in her throat, Hermione set to work on the next wrist. 

Once both wrists were severed, she used the hilt of the knife to remove some of Cormac’s teeth. Hermione hadn’t seen how Tom had done it the first time, so she was wildly guessing. She slammed the hilt down one, two,  _ three _ times across the front of Cormac’s mouth. The shattered teeth crumbled into his mouth and throat, a damp, eerie place Hermione didn’t want to put her hand. She used his ripped open cheek to help her aim as she smashed more of his teeth in. To get the fragments out, she rolled the body into its side and shook Cormac’s limp head until white bits fell onto the ground. It took more energy than Hermione had imagined, frustrating her almost to the point of tears. She kept her dirty hair pulled back tightly and used the little strength she had left after murder to continue cleaning.

Before she could take the remains to the farm, Hermione went to the river by herself. She washed herself as thoroughly as she could. She had blood clumping her curls together, stuck to the front of her body, and in every crevasse she could imagine. It took ages for her to scrub herself clean in the cold, black waters. When she got back to the cabin to gather the hands and teeth, Tom still wasn’t back. 

Even after she returned from the old farm, there was no sign of Tom. She was greeted by Cormac’s stiff, toothless body. His empty eyes stared right through her as she entered the cabin again, now empty handed. The pigs were enjoying their midnight snack and Cormac would be remarkably harder to identify, should he be found. 

Per their plans, Hermione grabbed the shovel and set to work out in the woods. They had chosen a grave location two days prior, but Hermione hadn’t imagined she would be left alone to dig it. If she had done the math right, Tom should’ve been back by then. She wasn’t certain what time it was, exactly—Tom was the one that always wore a watch. Hermione hadn’t thought they’d run into any issues. 

That meant Hermione was left alone digging the shallow grave in the dark woods. She brought one of the lanterns with her, but kept it as dim as possible to stay discrete. Even with the cool night air chilling her soaking hair, beads of sweat rolled down her forehead as she shoveled aside the piles of pine needles and heaps of dirt. Her entire body ached, but she carried on. Every sound in the trees, hidden in the darkness, she hoped was Tom. With each sound, she snapped her attention up to where she thought the source was, but found nothing. 

Hermione was still alone as she dragged Cormac’s heavy body out into the woods. She had to roll him onto a tarp and drag it over her shoulder to manage to move him on her own. The boy was lean, but he had been all muscle and Hermione was nowhere near strong enough to carry him alone. That hadn’t been in the plan. 

She dragged him out to his shallow grave. With a few kicks, Hermione rolled him into the hole. Covering him well wasn’t their main concern; they wanted scavengers to speed up decomposition as quickly as possible. The longer the body had his face, the easier it was to identify him.

With the tarp, Hermione returned to the still-empty cabin. She washed their tarps and weapons alone. With a sore body, she cleaned as much of their crime scene as she could manage. Once the wildlife began to wake around her in the early morning darkness, Hermione took her cue and headed home. She made her way through the forest alone, constantly hoping to hear Tom on his way to her. Hermione left the forest and crossed the empty football field all alone in the night. 


	18. Chapter Seventeen - Daybreak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello folks! Thank you for waiting so patiently. My life has been chaotic and, honestly, the next chapter might take a bit as well. My dog isn’t going to be with us much longer and she’s my main focus right now. I do have this chapter for you though!
> 
> I hope you are all doing well. Stay healthy, be safe, and maybe don’t do hard drugs. Enjoy!

Hermione reached their home as dawn broke. She watched the first streaks of pink mix with the dark night sky, her anxiety growing deeper by the moment. Silently, Hermione let herself into the house and made her way to their rooms. Her first prerogative was to check Tom’s room. She cracked the door open only to find darkness and an empty bed. Her heart felt like it dropped into her stomach. 

She did the only thing she could next. She made her way back to her room in the quiet house and dropped off her purse. Hermione got ready to shower before heading to the bathroom.

Her back to the hallway, Hermione made it three steps into the bathroom before she was grabbed from behind. One hand clamped shut over her mouth, the other around her waist, pulling her against a firm body. All she could think of was Cormac’s lifeless eyes as she buried him, imagined the eerily cold hands were his, imagined the body she was pinned against was the torso she had rolled through the mud. Upon instinct, Hermione struggled against the steel grip holding her. The bathroom door latched shut a little too loud. She was spun, her back now pressed against the pale green wall. 

Her eyes instantly locked with her attacker’s. His face may have been obscured by dried blood and mud, but she knew who this boy was. Instinctually, all of her muscles relaxed, no longer ready to fight to the death. Hermione let out a sob of relief against Tom’s chilled hand, stupid tears blurring her vision. 

“What the fuck?” She slapped his chest once he released her. Tom looked...fucked up. His hair was a mess, windblown and dirty. He was still covered in the obvious evidence of their crime—blood and other bodily fluids dried on his skin—mixed with mud she hadn’t seen on him before. His jeans were ripped now and he looked irritated beyond belief. 

“I’ve had the worst morning imaginable.” His words came out a low growl. Tom began to shed his crusty clothes, leaving the bathroom light off. The room was lit only by the beams of sunrise that snuck through the tiny bathroom window, painting his skin ironically pretty shades of pink and orange. 

Without thinking, Hermione turned on the water and tested the temperature.  _ Warm, he needed a warm shower _ . “What took you so long? I just barely got home myself.” She kept her voice caring, taking heed not to push any of his buttons. 

Tom spun around and—for the first time in years—glowered at her. “He drives a  _ fucking  _ manual, Hermione.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Hermione demanded as quietly as she could. Her eyebrows furrowed together. “I told you he drives a truck. You saw what it looked like.”

“A  _ manual _ —“ he explained slowly to his brilliant sister, his nostrils flared—“isn’t the same as other cars.” The last word came out as a hiss. Tom stood directly before her, looking down at her, naked. Something deep inside her whispered  _ run _ , but even if she did listen to her instincts, she would never make it far. With him, she was prey. “It drives  _ very _ differently. I can’t drive a fucking manual.”

Recognition reached Hermione’s eyes. He had been gone for hours—hours trying to work a vehicle he had no idea how to operate. 

“Do you know how many times I stalled that garbage-can-on-wheels just trying to get it out of town?” Tom gently wrapped his right hand around the side of her throat. His thumb caressed her jaw in a gesture that she was sure was  _ meant _ to be affection, but came off as threatening. Hermione swallowed hard, gasping for breath despite the fact that there was no pressure limiting her intake. Yet. 

Hermione quickly shook her head. 

“It took me all fucking night, Hermione.” His words were so sharp she recoiled as if she had been cut. “I wiped it all down; it’s perfect. I’m exhausted.” His thumb moved slowly, his hand wrapping around her delicate throat. Tom’s hand began to squeeze. Hard and slow, he cut off Hermione’s oxygen flow. “So what I’m going to do is take a scalding hot shower to burn the memory of this night away. You’re going to go lay in bed and pretend like we’ve been here all night.”

Quickly, he released her neck and Hermione stumbled back a step. She coughed as she steadied herself. 

“I’m so sorry, Tom.” Her words were soft, so quiet they were almost a plea. “I had no idea there was a difference.” She knew how to do calculus, but she didn’t know what a manual car was. She had never felt so stupid before. Hermione grabbed her things and began to leave. 

Tom stopped her as she walked past. She held her breath and closed her eyes, but was treated by soft lips pressing against her temple. 

“You’re lucky I love you,” Tom murmured against her skin. He reeked of metal, sweat, and sex, yet Hermione still melted into his deadly touch. 

“I know,” she breathed and smiled softly. She left him to shower. 

—

The siblings spent most of their Sunday catching up on sleep in their own beds. Their parents brushed it off as normal teen activities and let them rest, unbothered. For Tom and Hermione, the sleep was sacred. Their exhausted bodies soaked up the gifted energy like a sponge did water. 

Hermione woke once the sky was high in the sky, her mind still groggy from the chaotic previous 24 hours. Her entire body ached as she sat up; it protested her decision to leave bed. She could feel the muscles she used to shovel dirt over Cormac’s pale face moving across her shoulder bones, dragging stiffly. She held in her uncomfortable groan. 

Once she had tested the sore spots of her body, Hermione slipped out of her room. She made her way towards the liveliest sounding part of the house. In the living room she found her mother and Tom lounging on their couch. Mom was flipping through tv channels and Tom watched with a perfected amused gaze. 

“Look who’s awake!” Her mom announced after finally noticing Hermione had entered the room. Hermione smiled warmly at her and settled into one of the two sofa chairs. “You never sleep in this late,” she teased. 

“It was a weird night,” Hermione admitted to her mother. She instantly earned a look of sympathy from her mother and soaked it up. “I ended up walking home from the party. It was stupid.”

“Aww.” Her mom clicked her tongue. “I’m sorry, honey. You could’ve called the house. I’m sure it would’ve woken one of us up.”

“I would’ve gotten you,” Tom interjected. Jean sent Tom a warm, appreciative smile and Hermione has to fight the urge to laugh. 

“I know.” Hermione shrugged and got comfortable in the large chair. “I needed some space. I wanted to clear my head after that date.”

As if it had been planned, Jean stopped her channel surfing when she caught a glimpse of a young man’s face on the local news. Originally she had passed the channel by two stations, but she quickly back-paddled and returned it to their local news station. 

In the upper right corner of the screen was last year’s yearbook photo of Cormac. His blonde hair was combed perfectly in place and his blue eyes shined with youthful mischief. He looked like a sweet boy, a boy that could do no harm, a boy that would never lay his hands roughly on another, a boy that—

“—it’s just as Deputy Moody stated earlier today.” A blonde woman with tight ringlets was speaking, yanking Hermione’s attention from Cormac’s photo. Her glasses hung low on her nose and she spoke fast, precise. She had the most hideous jewelry that Hermione had ever seen. “It appears the McLaggen boy is missing. They are issuing an Amber Alert statewide and the local police department is prioritizing this case.”

The screen cut to black quickly, the  _ whoosh! _ of a powering down electronic filling the room. No one spoke for a moment, as the heavy fact settled upon them. Eventually, Jean cleared her throat. 

“Honey, are you okay?” she asked carefully, eyeing her daughter as if she was glass. “That was the boy you went out with last night, was it not?”

Hermione’s pulse was racing. She could hear each beat of her heart in her ears, feel it within the whole of her body. Tom said they had until Monday before any searches began. She barely had her story straight. Fuck, she barely felt coherent after that awful evening. 

“I-I think so.” Hermione embraced her discomfort and shock and redirected it. She wasn’t the born liar Tom was, but she was resourceful. The tools had been laid before her. “I can’t really wrap my head around it yet?” She let her voice shake with unease. Hermione stared at her up-turned hands. “So, uhh, that means Cormac is, umm, missing?”

“Oh honey,” Her mom murmured before moving to her daughter’s side. She perched on the arm of the sofa chair and pulled Hermione into her arms. From her new position, Hermione’s face was safe from her mother’s scrutiny. The only person who could see her expression was Tom now. 

He was met with a maddened grin. 

—

“Are you worried at all about the Alert?” Hermione asked in a nonchalant tone. Monday had come quicker than she liked and with that came the burden of facing her peers at school. She basked in her last few moments of freedom and she walked beside Tom.

Their route to school wasn’t long, but it was quiet. They took the time to cut through isolated sections of forest that still resided in the midst of their little town. Their forest was shifting from its evergreen focus and picking up highlights of reds and oranges. It was like it was adapting to their new hobby, soaking up what they poured into the ground. Hermione was a smart enough girl to know blood wasn’t turning the oak leaves red, but she found the thought to be beautiful nonetheless. How long could they continue killing this season? Would they have to stop as the frost hardened the ground, as snow settled over their cabin and made their domain inaccessible? Would th—Tom have to wait until spring? 

Could he?

“Not at all.” He brushed off her concern easily. “I hope they enjoy their search.” Tom glanced at his clean fingernails, perfectly clipped and washed.

“Arrogance never suits our side of history,” Hermione murmured. She shot a glance at her brother. 

“It isn’t arrogance when you’re right.”

Something close to a smile shaped his lips and Hermione relaxed. Tom was right. They’d never find Cormac. As winter came, his body would only become harder to find. Maybe these seasons were a gift to them, once again proof that they themselves were Gods. 

“By the way,” Tom segwayed as they exited their small patch of seclusion and joined society back on a paved sidewalk. “We’ve got plans after school. I accepted an invitation for us to spend time with Lucius at his home.”

Hermione let out a quiet sigh. “I’m assuming you’ve got a good reason.”

“Don’t I always, sister?”

—

It didn’t take long for Hermione to be bombarded. She made her way as quickly as she could to class, but the moment they stepped onto campus, eyes were on her. Cormac had been a risky choice, but she had had no idea just how  _ popular _ he was. Hermione had assumed he was a nuisance to all her peers, not some well-respected boy that girls were crying over in the hallways. It made her uncomfortable—both the unwanted attention and the fact that she hadn’t noticed such a glaring detail. 

“Did you hear?” Padme whispered a little too loud to Cho in the hallway. Hermione purposely didn’t look at the girls while she waited for Mrs. McGonagall to open her classroom, but they were looking at her. “She was with Cormac when he went missing.”

Cho gasped quietly. She covered her hand with her mouth as she spoke, but it did nothing to muffle the words she spoke. “I think I saw them Saturday. They went to Jordan’s party together, right?”

“Yeah, maybe—“

The door to Mrs. McGonagall’s class opened swiftly and interrupted the girls’ gossip session. 

“I better get going,” Cho mumbled and hurried off down the hall.

Hermione headed straight into class and claimed her usual seat. She could feel Padme’s eyes on her from the back of the class, but she did her best to pretend it was any other Monday, any other day where that girl didn’t matter and she wouldn’t notice her. 

It wasn’t long before the boys showed up, skidding into class in an almost cartoonish manner. They had arrived with time to question her before class officially began, something Hermione had hoped they wouldn’t plan for. It was the conversation she was looking forward to least. 

“‘Mione!” They started together, both slamming into their seats on either side of her.

From deep inside her, she found the string attached the emotions she had buried that Saturday night. Her fear of Cormac, the tears she had wanted to shed, her absolute exhaustion. She pulled on those and wielded them just as she had learned from Tom. Her eyes began to wet and her skin prickled. Instantly, she could see the boys’ sheer curiosity turn into deep concern. 

“What happened, Hermione?” Harry took over the lead as Ron shrank back in on himself. He wasn’t one for female emotions. 

“It was just awful, Harry.” Hermione sniffled and did her best to stay on the edge of almost crying, but not. “The date was horrible and now he’s missing. I feel like I can’t say anything bad about him because then it looks like  _ I _ did something to him!” A well timed tear rolled down her cheek and she shuddered at the memory of her back hitting the hard, sturdy tree. It had been a horrible date. 

Harry looked mortified. “It was ‘horrible’?” he repeated. Hermione had to fight down her annoyance at his relieved expression. A fucking person was missing and he was happy her date sucked. Teenage boys really were shitty. 

Hermione nodded and wiped away her renegade tear. “He was just trying to get me drunk to…” She frowned. “Well, you know…and I didn’t want to drink that much nor did I want to go into those woods with him—“

“—he tried to take you into the woods?” Ron interrupted incredulously. “What the fuck?” Both boys had their hands gripped in white knuckled fists.

“Y-yeah.” Another tear rolled down her cheek. This one hit the desk. “He started bringing me into the woods and he pushed me against a tree. I pushed him back and just...took off. I kept running until I got home.” Hermione shrugged and looked down at her hands. “Then Sunday I’m watching tv with my family a-and I see the Amber Alert. My mom started hugging me and worrying about me, but how do I tell people that me—the last person to see him—was attacked by him and ran?” 

Hermione looked up at Harry. She focused on all the worry she had felt about Tom missing, all the exhaustion she had been filled with when she got home that Sunday at dawn. “What am I supposed to do? I might’ve been the last person to see him. Everyone k-keeps staring at me and feeling bad for me, but I don’t even want to think about him!”

Harry quickly pulled Hermione in for a tight hug. She fought her urge to pull out of it and let him hug her for a long moment. “We’ll figure this all out, ‘Mione,” He promised softly. “We take care of our own here. Ron and I will start asking around to see if anyone else saw anything, okay? Maybe you weren’t the last person to see him.”

She nodded into his chest. Harry gently released her and Ron patted her on the shoulder. She appreciated his attempt at support much more. 

“We can figure this out,” Ron promised as well. Hermione had to do her best not to laugh. It was cruel, the entire situation. Tom was going to laugh until his sides hurt when she told him about it later. 

—

Hermione has never actually been to Lucius’s house. She knew of it vaguely due to Tom’s handful of real (and fabricated) visits, but she found herself excited for the plans. She was excited for anything that took her away from school and the public eye. Tom’s friends treated her the same as usual at lunch and Hermione had deeply appreciated it. It was the only time she hadn’t heard whispers or received stares. For once, she was looking forward to Lucius’s company.

Lucius, of course, didn’t walk home like they did. He had a sleek, black car parked in Student Parking that was parked across two spots—like an ass. Lucius spent a moment showing them his car, using terms Hermione purposely didn’t take the time to remember. His car was an automatic and that’s all she noted. Tom acted interested enough in the conversation for both of them and Lucius preened under his approval. 

Hermione was thankful she was in the backseat as they pulled into Lucius’s driveway. The Malfoy home was much less home and much more mansion. There were a row of very large houses that resided on the outskirts of their town, the opposite side from their cabin, that housed the richer families like the Malfoys. Hermione had known Lucius was well off, but she had never imagined he lived in a house easily three times their modest three bedroom. 

Was this why Tom insisted on collecting his people?

“The house has been in the family for several generations, but was mostly left empty until twenty-five years ago,” Lucius explained off-handedly. “Father decided he wanted to raise a family away from the city and settled down here with my mother. They’ve been here ever since.”

They followed their host through the entryway and down a hallway lined with beautiful art. Hermione felt uncomfortable in such a lavish environment. She kept her chin up and stayed as close to Tom as she could. Her brother moved through the situation with an ease that she envied. Tom was assessing their surroundings as if he had the exposure to make commentary on them. His comfort only made her look up to him more. 

“I see your mother has been redecorating again,” Tom mentioned as he motioned to a specific painting.

Lucius modded and smiled. “She does get antsy if things aren’t changed every so often.”

He then led them into what could only be called a rec room. Lucius walked right up to the pool table situated in the center of the room and ran his hand over the dark wood. 

“It’s all carved by hand—one piece. Father had it commissioned just for me.” The boy smiled proudly and Hermione had to hold in a snort of distaste. She assumed most of the items in the room were custom, from the art to the other forms of entertainment. His life of luxury just seemed wasteful. If he was an only child, how often did these things even get used?

“Your father did well with this one.” Tom smirked at his friend and grabbed two pool sticks. He handed the second to Lucius and they started to rack a game of pool.

Hermione settled into a leather couch that she was sure cost just as much as her family’s car and got comfortable. She pulled some homework out of her backpack and worked quietly as the two boys hung out. It didn’t bother her to be excluded from the game of pool. Not only did she not know how to play, but she had no interest in foolish games. She had plenty of other things to keep her mind busy; she wasn’t even sure how Tom could manage to keep so cool. The whispers she had heard all day kept replaying in her head. 

_ “Didn’t you hear? She was with him that night!” _

_ “Maybe she’s the one that did it. What if he’s dead?” _

_ “Why didn’t they just take her instead?” _

She didn’t care about people pointing the finger at her without any proof. She cared that people would’ve rather had her missing—or dead—without even knowing what happened. Cormac was a monster and they all wanted him back. 

Well, maybe they were right about her. She was a monster, too. 

A polite knock on the open door snapped her attention back to the present. Standing in the doorway was an older clone of Lucius. The man had shorter platinum blonde hair combed back in a fashionable manner and had the same lean build as his son. Both boys paused their game of pool and instantly turned their full attention to the man in the doorway. 

“Good afternoon, Mr. Malfoy,” Tom greeted the man politely. Hermione instantly sat up straighter and set her schoolwork aside. 

“Hello, Tom. As I’ve said before, feel free to call me Abraxas. Mr. Malfoy is my father.” Abraxas glanced at Hermione and raised an eyebrow. He looked to his son for an explanation of why there was someone new in his house. 

“Father, this is Hermione. She’s Tom’s younger sister,” Lucius explained swiftly. 

“Well, it’s splendid to meet you, Miss Hermione,” Abraxas said with a slight bow of his head. Hermione copies his gesture and kept her mouth shut. He turned his attention back to the boys. “As much as we enjoy having company over, I think our guests need to head home.”

“Father?” Lucius sounded startled at the abruptness of his father. 

Abraxas took a deep breath. “That missing boy, McLaggen? They found his car on the outskirts of town. I think now is a time for children to be with their parents, Lucius. Please drive both of our guests home and come  _ directly _ home.” He looked back to his guests. “I’m sorry about cutting your visit so short. You’re always welcome back, particularly on days where children aren’t going missing in our town?”

“‘Children’?” Hermione piped up.

The older gentleman let out a heavy sigh. “I think it’s best you two get home and talk to your parents.”

—

Lucius graciously drove both Tom and Hermione home. He apologized a multitude of times about their plans being cut short. 

“It’s perfectly alright, Lucius,” Hermione soothed from the backseat. “Your father was right; we should be with our parents right now. Maybe next time we come over, you can teach me how to play pool?” She smiled softly at him through the rearview mirror. A pink tint settled over the tips of his ears and she knew she had set that concern at ease.

Once Lucius had driven away, both siblings stood in front of their house for a moment. 

“Does this mean everything’s worked?” Hermione asked so quietly that she was afraid Tom wouldn’t hear her. She didn’t look at him, but rather she stared at the window that looked into their living room. Their parents weren’t in sight, but the tv was playing the news station. The awful blonde woman was rambling away. 

Tom took her hand for a moment, long enough to give it a squeeze before letting go. “It seems so, sister.” A smile rested on his lips, twisted and dark and exactly how she liked it. It settled all the worry in her soul. 


	19. Chapter Eighteen - Double or Nothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks! I just wanna start off with saying I deeply appreciate all the patience! My girl Bella has passed, but that just means she isn’t suffering anymore and is eating all the treats she wants. I’ve got my other dog Dahlia that still need plenty of attention. I just wanted to update everyone since you’ve all been here for this entire journey. All the best wishes have been appreciated it so much ❤️
> 
> Now, here’s a chapter update! I’m extremely excited because after this chapter, everything changes up. I’ve been waiting for this for aaaaages and I’m SO PUMPED. This one is a transition (a bit). I’ll be back soon with more. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and commenting and always coming back!! Shout out to Zee, who’s birthday is today, and Beekie who is always there for me 😁

The two teens entered their home with caution. The tv was on with the local news cycle playing, distant photos of Cormac’s white pickup truck flashed across the screen next to the blonde news reporter. She looked to be making wild speculations that they couldn’t hear as the tv blasted an Amber Alert Alarm. The alarm silenced the blonde for only a few seconds, but it had done its job in grabbing her attention. Across the top of the screen a narrow, red banner accompanied the loud noise that read “Amber Alert” with Lavender’s description following suit. 

After the alarm ended and the banner disappeared, the reporter’s voice returned over the speakers, high pitched and demanding attention as the regular news banner began cycling. 

_ “Was this a case of two missing kids or the answer to a runaway child?” _

Hermione snapped her attention to her older brother, who was completely calm. Tom gave a slight shake of his head and Hermione followed his lead. 

“Kids?” Their mom called from the kitchen. 

“Coming!” Hermione responded dutifully and the two siblings headed off.

They found both parents in the kitchen wearing grim expressions. Tom Sr. always looked stern, but Jean usually had an air of lightness about her. It was gone. 

“You should have a seat,” Tom Sr. began. Both children listened, albeit Hermione was slightly startled. She hadn’t expected her stepfather to take any interest in the missing kids. He rarely showed interest in anything besides her mom. They both sat on barstools that were on the opposite side of the counter from their parents. 

“I’m sure you’ve seen the news,” Jean began.

“Yeah, it was on in the living room.” Hermione raised an eyebrow at her mom and earned herself a subtle kick in the ankle from her brother. “Err—I mean, Mr. Malfoy sent us home early. He said something about needing to be with our families?” She let her tone and eyebrow raise naturally, eyeing her mother in false curiosity. 

Jean nodded. “More news came out about that boy you were dating.” She glanced at her husband, then back at their children. “The news reported that his disappearance is connected to another student’s from your school.”

“I wasn’t dating him,” Hermione mumbled quietly as she stared down at the counter. When Hermione looked up after a moment of silence, she found her mom giving her a warm look of pity. Jean smiled at her sadly. It was the expression a mother gave her daughter after a first heartbreak. Hermione could feel her irritation rising. The accusations that came with their crime were already frustrating her. 

“It’s okay, honey,” Jean soothed. “We wanted to talk to you about some extra safety precautions we want you to take until this all gets sorted out.”

“‘Safety precautions’?” Tom repeated with a matching gaze of curiosity. 

Tom Sr. grunted in response. “You two kids have to walk to and from school together—no leaving anyone behind.”

“We already do that,” they said at the same time. Jean snorted a laugh as Tom and Hermione sent each other a look. 

“Good,” Tom Sr. stated firmly. “No going anywhere after school without the other.” He looked his son directly in his eyes before continuing, “you don’t let your sister out of your sight unless you’re in class or at home, okay?”

Tom nodded. Hermione could only imagine the smirk her brother was holding in. As if there was any threat to them out lurking in the town. Any restrictions put on them only bought their next victim time. There was no protecting themselves anymore. 

“Yes, Father,” Tom replied curtly and he earned a grunt in return. 

Hermione felt her stomach growl and she looked to her mom. “Is that all? I’d really like to get to the dinner part of the night.” She gave her mom a playful smile, trying to wrap up any other rules their parents had in mind. 

“Just one more thing,” Jean told her kids with a tweaked smile. Bad news was ahead and Hermione already was fighting a sigh. “I don’t want to hear that you two have been out wandering around in those woods anymore, at least not for now.”

The sigh left her mouth as a groan and Hermione looked from one parent to another. “Mom, no one’s going to get us in the woods.” She rolled her eyes to emphasize the ludicrousness of the idea. 

Jean shook her head regardless and stood her ground. “No woods.” Her tone was firm, finality in her words. Hermione held in her frustration and simply nodded. Tom did the same, not an ounce of inconvenience on his face. 

—

Sleep didn’t come for Hermione. She laid in bed awake as the moon rose higher and higher in the sky, sending beams of light through the cracks of her blinds. Her eyes traced the popcorn crackle roof of her room as she tried to find her peace, but the Amber Alert alarm kept blasting in her ears whenever her eyelids began to droop. 

Their description of Lavender would be incorrect now if one took into consideration the stage of decomposition she would currently be at. 

Images of Lavender’s slowly decomposing face flashed between the roof and Hermione. Skin liquidating before congueling and slipping off the bone. Bugs crawling through what was once the home of someone she knew, someone she had eaten lunch with and laughed with and  _ had shoved her face into a locker.  _

Hermione thought about the bugs the most. Were they crawling through the dead girl’s ribcage? Were worms twisting through her now-still lungs, exploring as if her bones were tree roots? It took longer than Hermione expected for bile to begin pooling at the bottom of her throat, threatening to choke her as it rose, hot and acidic and—

The quiet  _ squeak _ of her bedroom door snapped Hermione back into reality, to her warm bed and soft sheets and quiet home. She watched expectantly as Tom slipped into her room. Her door latched shut yet again and all the fear left in her body flooded out of her, leaving her safe with him. 

“Thought we could talk,” Tom murmured as he made his way to her bed and settled on the edge near her chest. Hermione simply nodded in agreement and he continued.

“We’re obviously going to keep going into the woods,” he promised her. She felt her muscles begin to relax, her fingers broke out of fists and she slowly stretched them.  _ Their domain.  _

“I was hoping so,” she admitted quietly. 

“We will have to make sure no one witnesses our coming and going—in any section of the woods.” Tom looked at her curiously, eyes searching hers. “I think we should take a few days off from stalking.”

Hermione nodded. “We need to let things cool down,” she agreed. “Everything just got a lot harder.”

“The greater the risk, the greater the reward,” he told her before finding her hand with his own. His skin was cool against her own, sending a pleasant chill through her. 

“Indeed.” Hermione looked into his dark eyes and observed for a moment. “Tell me if the waiting becomes too much, promise?”

Tom locked eyes with his sister and nodded once. “I will.”

“Good.”

He looked her over again, his eyes lingering on the sheen glimmering on her forehead. “Would you like me to stay until you fall asleep?” His voice had the edge to it that made it almost soft. His features were sharpened by the shadows cast by the moon and Hermione found him so striking. 

“Yes, please stay, Tom.” Her voice sounded so small as she settled back into her warm bed. She sank into her sheets and let her eyes begin to close. 

“Of course.”

—

If there was any part of the day Hermione dreaded most, it would be the seven minutes between the first bell and second bell that she spent seated in her first period. It meant yet another seven minutes for Ron and Harry to question her, inform her of all their conspiracy theories, or celebrate Ron being right. It was only Tuesday and Hermione was already done with the entire process. Just the  _ thought _ of what the rest of the week would look like with them exhausted her entirely. 

“Hermione!” Ron shouted as he whipped into class. He barely dodged a collision with the desk nearest the classroom door as he sped into the room. Harry was right on his tracks, entering the class in a jog a moment later. 

The boys slammed into their seats on either side of Hermione, causing her to jump with their abruptness. Both boys started talking at once, absolute nonsense spouted over one another at such a quick pace that she couldn’t decipher what was happening. Hermione held up a hand and the boys quickly silenced themselves. 

“One at a time,” she ordered through gritted teeth. Her head was already pounding and yet she still had to play the dreaded ‘friend’ role. She hated pretending. 

“Me first!” Ron declared. “Did you see the news last night?” He didn’t wait for a response. “It said your boyfriend—“

“—he’s not my boyfriend—“

“—had some of Lav’s stuff! I told you she couldn’t have run away!” Ron looked past Hermione on to his best friend. His eyes were lit with so much hope that Hermione almost felt bad for him. 

_ Almost.  _

“I know my Lavlav,” Ron continued with the utmost confidence. “I knew she didn’t run away! Something happened to her. That prick Cormac kidnapped her and now he’s holed away with her somewhere!”

Hermione waited until Ron was done with his proclamation before speaking. She checked her tone and facial expression, taking care to assure she was expressing empathy. “Ron,” she started gently, “that isn’t necessarily a good thing.”

It was as if the thought had never occurred to Ron that his girlfriend being kidnapped was an awful outcome. His excitement quickly soured to a twisted recognition of horror. 

“She’s been kidnapped,” he repeated quietly. He stared empty-eyed at his two friends.

Harry quickly cleared his throat and stepped in. “Ron, I think we should go talk to the police after school.”

They watched as Ron came back to reality. Hermione could practically see the cogs turning in his mind as he contemplated what Harry had said. 

“We should,” Ron agreed with a nod. “Hermione, you should come with us. You were with Cormac that night!”

Hermione felt her eyes widened and her stomach drop.  _ The police _ ? The last thing she wanted was to willingly walk into the police station and offer up a statement. She shook her head. “No thank you, Ron.” She kept her voice even and calm, a twinge of remorse purposely stirred in. “If they want to hear from me, they’ll ask my parents to talk to me. You technically can’t tell the police anything without a parent there anyways, unless it is through the school.”

It was obvious both boys had had no idea about the legalities that came along with a missing person’s case. Ron frowned once again and sighed. “Well, I’m going to talk to them regardless. I’m sure they’ll want to hear what I have to say.”

With a nod, Hermione offered him an encouraging smile. “Let me know how it goes, okay?”

Harry placed a friendly hand on her shoulder and Hermione kept herself from pulling away. “Of course,” he promised her. He opened his mouth to say more, but the Godsent voice of Mrs. McGonagall began talking, signaling the start of class. 

—

Lunch was a haven Hermione spent the entire day looking forward to. Never before had she dreaded being in her classes so much, dreaded being in school and around her peers. She dropped down next to Tom and let out a loud sigh of relief as her arm bumped against his own. He sent her a curious look and their group of friends chuckled. 

“Did you get the circuit of counseling as well?” Lucius asked with a raise of his perfectly manicured eyebrow. 

Hermione sent him an angry glare that seemed to answer his question for him. He let out a chuckle. “We had them as well. I’m sure they weren’t as intensive, since neither student was in our year, but they were dreadful nonetheless.”

“I come to school to learn,” Severus murmured as he glowered down at his sandwich. “Not to sit around and listen to my ‘peers’ talk about their feelings in four different class periods.”

“Not all of them were about feelings.” Tom spoke up and Hermione snapped her attention to him. Looking at him was like taking a shot of espresso. She felt more awake—recharged even. The entire day had been draining life from her, but Tom breathed it right back into her. “I had one about Stranger Danger and all that, as obviously inapplicable as it is. The safety of walking in pairs, the importance of curfew, etcetera.”

“I must have that one after lunch,” Lucius drawled in amusement and Severus snorted. “I’m an only child, who the fuck am I supposed to ‘walk in pairs’ with?”

“No one.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “You drive that fancy car your daddy bought you everywhere. No walking required.”

Severus choked on his bite of sandwich which earned him a glare from Lucius. “They don’t mean walking in the literal sense,” he quipped. 

“Does it seem like I’m unable to pick up on conversational nuances, Lucius?” Hermione retorted.

“I’m going to put a stop to this before it goes too far,” Tom states firmly. “I understand tensions are high for a plethora of reasons and I don’t want this to turn into a fight.”

Hermione let out a huff. Lucius took a long drink from his water bottle. The two stared at each other for a long moment before Tom broke the tension again. 

“What in God’s name are they doing?” Tom asked in a low voice. 

“Who—“ Hermione's question was answered the moment she followed Tom’s line of vision. Down their hallway came Harry and Ron, looks of determination set on both of their faces. 

“Of course.” She let out a heavy sigh and gave Tom a sad smile. “I guess I’ll see you after school.”

Hermione stood and grabbed her bag right as the boys approached them. “We need to talk to you,” Ron informed her firmly. 

“Alright,” she replied simply. She needed them on her side right now, needed everyone in her corner she could get. Hermione followed Ron and Harry back down the hallway they had come down and out towards the football field. The boys didn’t say anything until they were past the burnout spot, closer to the fencing by the staff parking lot. The loud, chaos of high school was muted there, calm enough that Hermione could actually hear her own thoughts and think. 

She may trust them both, but she still had to be alert if they were going to isolate her. 

“So, what’s going on?” Hermione asked finally. It wasn’t like them to not talk first. Typically, she couldn’t get a word in edgewise. 

Ron and Harry exchanged a look. “We have some more questions for you,” Harry started. “We didn’t wanna have to ask you in class anymore, especially not with it being this serious now.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows at the seriousness of the conversation. Ron’s expression was incredibly grim and Harry was managing to keep his controlled and calm. She would’ve been impressed had it been any other situation. 

“Alright,” she said slowly. “What questions do you have for me?”

“Did Cormac ever mention Lavender?” Ron asked a little too quickly. Harry looked frustrated; Hermione assumed he was supposed to be in charge of the situation. She couldn’t blame Ron for being overly eager. 

“I don’t think so,” Hermione answered, but she made a point to furrow her brow. She took a moment to think hard about all of her interactions with Cormac, each one that she knew he was the prey in. These boys were going to help her shape her story. “Maybe once or twice?” Hermione shrugged. “Just normal stuff though. He would ask about my friends. That would be you two and, by proxy, he assumed Lavender was one, I guess.”

Her words seemed to light a fire in Ron’s eyes. “Did he say anything else?” he demanded. 

“Not that I can think of.” Hermione gave him a sad smile. “I can keep thinking about it and let you know if I remember anything. Does that help?”

Ron gave her a stiff nod and Harry took over again. Her words had completely overwhelmed the redhead. She could see him thinking, trying to put together a puzzle that he had all the wrong pieces to. It was pathetic; he really thought he could save Lavender. Little did he know that she was somewhere far in the woods, buried in the cold ground, her body slowly decomposing. Hermione wondered what that knowledge would do to him if he could barely handle any of this. 

“Did you ever see anything weird in Cormac’s truck?” Harry asked next. Hermione turned her attention to him, the stronger willed of the two. “You were most likely the last person in his car if the timeline is right. The news showed his truck and keeps saying they are connected. Was there anything in his truck?”

Hermione shook her head. She really was impressed with Harry. “No, it was just a normal, white truck. It was a little messy for my tasty, protein bar wrappers on the floor and some school books.”

“‘School books’?” Harry repeated with wide eyes. 

“Yes?” Hermione shoved down the bubbling glee building in her stomach. She couldn’t wait to tell Tom about their conversation. 

“Like a journal? Or a notebook? Did you see anything someone would write in?” Harry asked quickly, his eagerness destroying the collected demeanor he had been trying to project. They were still so fixated on that diary—everyone was. 

“Yeah, I guess so.” Hermione looked from one boy to the next. “There was one of the school textbooks—I remember because I thought it was such a shame how he was treating it—and a notebook. There was some purple leather book under those, but I only saw it when I picked up my purse.”

If Hermione has thought Ron’s eyes were alive before, now the entire boy was vibrating. “That’s her journal!” He told them quickly. “That must’ve been Lavender’s diary!”

“There’s no guarantee of that,” Hermione told him gently. “I’m not certain. It was dark.” She couldn’t blame the boys for wanting to play detective, but she could see them getting in the way very quickly. 

“Yes, but—“

Hermione tuned Ron out completed as a car pulling into the parking lot grabbed her attention. Rather, it wasn’t a car but an SUV painted sleek black. It moved smoothly and silently. The vehicle looked official; she assumed it was with the police. It reminded Hermione of all the cop dramas she had watched with her mom. Whipping into a parking spot, the vehicle stopped and turned off. The license was a government plate. Her blood ran cold. 

The boys finally noticed she hadn’t been listening to them and turned to stare at the SUV as well.

“Oh shit,” Ron said too loudly. “That’s gotta be the FBI or someone, right?”

Hermione tried to swallow but her mouth was so dry that there wasn’t an ounce of saliva left. Small town police they could handle. State troopers? Maybe. But what the fuck were the FBI doing in their town?


	20. PART TWO:  Chapter Nineteen - A Call For Help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Part Two, where absolute chaos breaks out and the game changes! Thank you everyone for reading to this point and all your lovely comments. Shout out to my beta, Zee, for reading this even though you’re buried in schoolwork. I love you kid ❤️
> 
> I don’t own HP, something about JKR sucking, the usual. Enjoy!

Godric’s Hollow was a dreary place in Albus’s opinion. He had never been a fan of the little town tucked away in the thick evergreen forest. He had spent as much of his life avoiding it as possible, purposely seeking schooling and a career centered elsewhere once he reached adulthood. It was the forest in particular that Albus had never taken to. The entirety of Godric’s Hollow was surrounded by it ,a sea of trees slowly suffocating all who lived within its bounds. 

Yet, there Albus was, back within the bounds of Godric’s Hollow again. He tried his best to ignore that fact as he contemplated the information pinned to the old standing cork board before him. The corners were missing chunks of cork and the frame it was held on creaked loudly if the board shifted in the slightest. Albus and his team were used to police stations with sparse resources and limited staff, but it was always in stark contrast to their home office back in Washington D.C.. 

“So would you like to tell us what we are doing here now?” a voice asked from somewhere behind him. The owner had to speak over the gurgling to life sounds the coffee pot was making. His team member, Remus, was in constant need of caffeine and could always locate the nearest coffee machine, even if it was older than him. 

“We are here to assist on a case,” Albus murmured simply. He continued to read the limited information the local police had gathered so far. They didn’t have much to go off of, if he was being honest. 

“Obviously,” snorted a different man. The voice belonged to yet another team member, the newest of the bunch. Albus could feel the eyes of his teammates’ on his back and released a begrudging sigh. 

“Well, if you must know,” he began with a slow turn. The rest of the small conference room held the two other people who had spoken. Remus still stood in the back of the room by a yellowed coffee machine. He was stirring packets of sugar into his beverage—three sugars, no cream. It had been the same since Remus had first joined Albus’s team eight years prior. “Someone called in a favor.”

“Someone had a favor with you?” The third man in their party spoke again before returning to sipping his canned energy drink. Albus knew for a fact that it was Sirius’s second energy drink of the day and made a mental note to stage an intervention after the current case. Sirius was rather new to their team. Albus still had plenty of shaping to do to his personality if they were all going to work like a well-oiled machine. 

“It is possible,” Albus stated simply before turning back to the cork board. Neither of his men made a retort to his statement, leaving Albus a lovely silence to focus in. 

By the time the conference door had opened again, Remus was seated and half way through his first cup of coffee. Albus had yet to talk—still mulling over the information he was intaking. He turned to greet whoever had joined them to see an old friend. 

“Deputy Moody,” Albus greeted with a nod and a warm smile. “It is splendid to see you in good health.”

“Same to ya, Dumbledore!” Deputy Moody spoke with a gruff tone that matched his rugged appearance. The man was covered in jagged scars and harsh scar tissue, all results of surviving some fight with a bear twenty-odd years ago. He was a local legend. “I mean--Agent Dumbledore. I ‘ppreciate ya comin’ in.”

“Not much of a choice once Abeforth called,” Albus admitted. Once he had gotten the phone call, he knew he couldn’t just send any team out to assist in the Deputy’s case—it had to be him. He hadn’t been thrilled 

“It’s good of ya to come all this way just for ya brother.” Deputy Moody’s voice held a twinge of respect. 

“‘Brother’?” Remus repeated suddenly. He set his chipped coffee mug down a little too fast. It slammed onto the tabletop and a drop sloshed out of the top, onto the old, vinyl tabletop. The man looked completely startled. 

“What’s wrong with him having a brother?” Sirius asked from across the table, an amused smirk on his lips. He sat leaned back in his chair, a pair of steel-toed boots propped up on the table. 

Remus snapped his attention to his new partner. “I’ve been working with the man for eight years and he’s never  _ once _ mentioned having a brother.”

“You never asked,” Albus replied simply. Sirius hid a snort of amusement behind his can as Albus returned his attention to the deputy. “Why was the Brown girl’s disappearance not taken as a kidnapping sooner?”

Deputy Moody gave the agent a frown. “Her boyfriend and her had a fight the night before her disappearance. Her room was missing some clothing items and her diary, which the family and friends report she would have never left behind. Everything pointed to a runaway.”

“That’s not an awful lot of proof to make such a firm decision on,” Remus interjected skeptically. “I understand where the conclusion came from, but the items listed in the case folder are so few that they could’ve just been misplaced in the week previous. Making such a firm decision based upon a diary seems hasty.”

Albus gave a slight nod in approval, but had wished that Remus wouldn’t reem the local staff. If he remembered correctly, Moody had a wild temper and Albus would’ve preferred not to see it on his trip. “What Remus means is that we will be taking our view of these cases back to square one. We want to reevaluate all the evidence already gathered and consider what it might all mean.”

Deputy Moody sized them all up for a moment, his intense stare analyzing them. “Well, al’ight there,” he said finally. “I’ve got a few men for ya to ‘ave at ya disposal. It is our goal to do our best to support yar team.”

With a solemn nod, Albus watched the Deputy leave the small conference space. He was grateful for all the assistance the town could offer. Anything was better than nothing and he knew better to appreciate any resources they were given. 

“So, you’ve got a brother?” Sirius asked with a curious quirk of his eyebrow. “He’s the reason we’re here?”

Albus let out a sigh. He knew Sirius had been a good choice for the team. The man was an awarded marksman with an excellent history within the Organized Crime division. It was just the guy’s personality rubbed him a bit wrong at times. “Yes, we are here because of my brother.” Albus pinched the bridge of his nose. “Abeforth informed me that he thought something odd was going on in town. He asked me personally to come check it out and, thus, we are here.”

“Do we get to meet him?” Sirius tried to squash his playful expression, but it seeped out of him. It earned him a pointed look from his boss. 

“No,” Albus stated flatly. “I doubt I will even be seeing him myself unless we need a statement from him.” 

“Did he mention any more details than that?” Remus asked quickly, cutting off Sirius, who already had his mouth open to speak. The budding headache in his left temple began to ease. Albus could always count on Remus and his logic. 

Albus turned his full attention to Remus, who was now getting up and starting the progress of creating his second cup of coffee. If only the liquid caffeine could do something for the never-ending bags that lived under the poor man’s eyes. “Something about his pigs having weird bowel movements.” Even Albus couldn’t hold his deep sigh in. “Abeforth is a farmer on the outskirts of town. He’s worried someone has been—“

“—feeding his pigs.” Sirius sat upright now, his boots firmly on the stained carpet. “We’ve got to turn that pig pen into a crime scene. I’ve seen it before with some mob guys. Pigs eat anything—”

“Hold your horses there, Black.” Albus shook his head. “We have permission to search the farm and collect samples for testing, but we don’t have a crime scene outside of where the truck was found. We have nothing pointing to the fact that these two incidents might even be connected. I am going to handle my brother’s favor and Deputy Moody’s case as two separate lines of work until otherwise deemed necessary.”

Sirius looked disappointed at the lack of connection. “Okay, Boss.”  _ No man should be so excited to shift through pig feces.  _

“Thank you.” Albus turned back to the cork board and let his eyes run over the missing teens’ information yet again. “I want us to start at the school, Remus. Sirius, I want you to spend the day searching the crime scene by the truck. Pay attention to every detail and take note of it for when we gather later. 

“Remus, fill your thermos,” he continued, “Principal Kingsley has been so kind as to set up a room for us to interview students at the school. I want you focused on body language. I want to know everything about these teenagers.”

“Yes, Boss,” both men replied simultaneously.

—

Their drive through Godric’s Hollow was bland. With all of the town’s kids in school, the streets were quiet. He found it eerie that the small town was so similar to when he had last visited. The supermarket had the same paint job, they still only had one donut shop, and there were still the same potholes in the same spots of the roads. Albus found it unsettling to find a place that never seemed to change or grow. It wasn’t healthy.

He tried to focus on their task ahead. Albus knew they had a lot of work ahead of them; interviewing teenagers was easily one of the most mundane tasks that came with their job. They were all wrapped up in their own drama, in a ridiculous, heightened realm where their own life was always at the forefront. They had no clue what it meant to work for the greater good, to want to better society, to truly care about others in a selfless manner. Keeping teens on track in a police interview was like herding chickens—difficult (from what Abeforth had told him). 

Albus parked the black SUV they had been issued in the faculty parking lot of the town’s only high school. As he climbed out of the vehicle, his mask of aloofness slid into place. His blue eyes showed only a spark of emotion, a tiny spark of genuine intrigue. Agent Dumbledore was a different man. He was a well-composed man, a man of high intelligence, a man of high caliber. He was the best at what he did and it showed just in his expression.

As Albus and Remus walked across the asphalt, he felt eyes on him. The news cycle in Godric’s Hollow was minimal and no other networks had picked up on the lost children yet.  _ Important _ . Slowly, he scanned their surroundings and his eyes settled on a small group of teenagers ogling them. They were separated from the parking lot by an eight foot chain-link fence. Two boys, one girl. All three kids were staring, but only the boys had their jaws dropped, one hitting the other’s arm repeatedly. The girl--though--she was still. Her eyes were locked on them, head turning slightly as she followed their path. 

“No use hiding our visit, it seems,” Remus muttered under his breath once he picked up on the teens. Albus shook his head. The doors chimed as they entered the front office of the high school.

“We’ll still be discrete,” Ablus murmured under his breath to his partner. Remus gave a curt nod in response as a short, toad-like woman approached them. She seemed entirely unpleased by their presence, despite the smile spread across her pink lips. The woman wore pink from head-to-toe. The toxic smell of expensive perfume and mothballs wafted directly into Albus’s nasal cavity the moment she was within their vicinity.

“Hello,” the woman greeted them with a high-pitched voice. “I am Miss Umbridge, Principal Kingsley’s personal assistant. I’ll be showing you to his office today.”

Albus couldn’t think of a single reason why a high school principal of a school of less than four hundred students needed a personal assistant, but he tried his best not to judge. “That would be lovely, Miss Umbridge.”

The toad of a woman led them through a small maze of hallways. OId, red brick walls hosted photos taken by students, canvases painted by students long ago graduated. Albus let his eyes wander little before they stopped outside a solid wooden door. She knocked three times and announced herself. “Kingsley, it is I, Miss Umbridge, with the FBI agents!”

Internally, Albus stifled a heavy sigh. He caught Remus’s eyeroll and raised an eyebrow at him. Remus shrugged in return. Miss Umbridge turned to smile at the two agents before opening the office door for them. 

The principal’s office was more modern than the outdated hallways. Seated behind the desk was who Albus assumed was Principal Kinglsey. As they entered the office, the tall, dark skinned man stood and extended his hand to both agents. Both agents shook his hand--Albus then Remus--before exchanging names and settling into the two chairs opposing his desk. With a nod of dismissal, Miss Umbridge left and closed the door, an expression of disappointment clear on her face.

“We are all very grateful for the work your team does,” Kingsley began. “I’ve had an old office cleared out for you to use. It isn’t much, but it’s the best I could do with short notice.”

“That’ll be more than enough, Mr. Kingsley,” Albus stated warmly with a nod. “We appreciate how flexible you and your staff are being for us. We understand this is going to cause a bit of an unrest in your students’ days; we’ll try to be as quick as we can.”

“I can’t imagine it going too long,” Remus chimed in. “We’ll be needing an up-to-date list of your students and another of any who were friends with either victim.”

Kingsley gave a nod before picking up his office phone. Presumably talking to Miss Umbridge, the man requested the exact lists he had been asked for before ending said call. “We should have them within the hour, if not sooner.” Kingsley stood. “Can I show you to the office I mentioned before?”

“Certainly,” Albus agreed. Him and Remus stood together and the three men left the office. Once again, the two agents were led through the old hallways, walking amongst the green carpet that looked older than the art on the walls. Principal Kingsley led them into an office slightly smaller than the one they had previously been in. In the middle of the room was a desk, one chair on one side and two on the other. It was situated as an stereotypical questioning room would be in a precinct, which was actually what Remus would be requiring. 

“Does this meet your needs?” Principal Kingsley asked as he turned to the two men.

“Indeed,” Remus answered for them. Albus simply nodded. It was time to let Remus do what he did best.

“Well, if there’s anything else either of you need, feel free to ask. Miss Umbridge is always within earshot--somehow.” Kingsley left with a nod, leaving the two men alone.

Albus had just begun to situate himself when Miss Umbridge joined them again. Thankfully Remus dealt with the woman, graciously accepting the files she prepared for them. Albus settles into a chair, taking the one from the side of the table with two and placing it in the corner of the room. From inside his bag, he pulled out his leather bound notebook. He only looked up once Remus had dismissed Miss Umbridge. 

“She really is something,” Remus muttered under his breath on his way to the interview table. He set the files down and began to sort them. “We have lists of students separated by grade and then separate lists of known friends for each victim.”

Albus hummed. “We won’t know who their real friends were until we start talking to them.”

Remus nodded in agreement. He flipped through a few papers and held one up. “This looks like a guarantee. Miss Brown was known to be dating a boy named Ronald Weasley.” His brow furrowed. “Hold on.” He began to dig through his messenger bag and pulled out files he had obviously brought from the police office. Somehow, he had already gotten coffee rings on them. Albus held in his sigh. 

“You’ll find in there that young Mr. Weasley has stopped by the police office several times to talk to officers already.” Albus glanced over his glasses to his younger partner. “What do you make of that?”

“Either a guilty conscience or a boy who very much misses his girlfriend.” Remus set down his files. “I’d like to talk to him first, if that’s alright with you.”

“I’m in agreeance,” Albus stated pleasantly. “You May take the lead. I’m going to stay back here and take notes. These kids are going to respond much better to your youth than my grey hair.”

Remus smiled at Albus and straightened up his files. He left out the police file on Miss Brown and stashed the rest away in his messenger bag. “I’ll have Miss Umbridge retrieve him for us then.”

—

It wasn’t until after the students’ lunch period that Miss Umbridge could retrieve Ronald Weasley. Albus watched as Remus flipped through Miss Brown’s file idly as the teen was brought into the room. 

“Here’s Mr. Weasley for you,” Miss Umbridge announced in her horrific voice. Albus considered how rude it would be to request to have someone else from the front office to help them. 

Ronald Weasley was a lanky boy with vibrant, red hair. He stood in the threshold of the room, big eyes trying to absorb the scene before him. 

“Thank you,” Remus nodded to Miss Umbridge and she closed the door. Ronald took a step toward the table and Remus sent him a warm smile. “It’s alright, Mr. Weasley—Ronald, right?”

Ronald nodded very quickly. “Ron,” he squeezed out, voice cracking sharply. “I-I go by Ron.”

“Then Ron it is.” Remus patted the table. “Would you mind answering some questions for me?”

The boy’s eyes went wide. “Is this about Lavender?” He quickly took the empty seat, tossing his school bag aside. “Are you with the police? Did you hear my tips?” Ronald spoke excitedly, leans forward with his hands on the table. 

Remus gave him a nod. “Yes, we are with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. The police asked for our help in the case; it’s not every day someone goes missing here.”

“Not anymore,” Ron said. “They told you about Cormac, right? How  _ both  _ of them are missing? That just isn’t right.”

“Do you have any ideas about it all, Ron?” Albus watched Remus do his work—not that he needed to do much. The teen seemed to just spew information for them. Albus was leaning towards the ‘misses girlfriend’ option for Ronald, but only time would tell. 

Ron nodded eagerly. He leaned over and dug through his beat up backpack. He placed an equally beat up composition book on the table and flipped a few pages in. “Okay, so the day before Lavender went missing? Her and I had a fight, right? She’s way too stubborn to just leave after one of our fights. Lavender had to win every argument we had. She could never just  _ walk away _ from us!” Ron paused to let Remus soak in the information and became more nervous by Remus’s incredulous look.

“There’s more—“ Ron continued, “—listen, Lavender brought her diary everywhere. Any purse she got had to be big enough to hold it. It went to school with her, on all our dates, everything. When she left, her diary was gone. We all assumed that meant she ran away, but then when Cormac’s car was found, they found it in  _ his car _ !”

Remus watched Ron closely. Albus enjoyed observing Remus reading body language. The younger man was very talented, keen eyes picking up subtle details that his eyes never could. After a long moment, Remus nodded yet again. “Are you inferring something about Mr. McLaggen?”

“He had to have taken Lavender!” Ron cried out. “She never would’ve just left. Not without all her clothes, without saying goodbye. Something happened to her.”

“That’s what we are here to investigate.” Remus’s voice was calming. “We are here because we believe something happened to Lavender. You do not need to worry about convincing us.” He waited to continue until Ron nodded in agreement. “Do you have any information we should know? Any people you think we should talk to?”

Ron seemed to hesitate and Remus pressed on. “We need to know who saw either of them last to work on the timeline of their disappearances. Any information you have will be a great help to finding your girlfriend.”

His words appeared to do the trick. “Hermione Granger—she’s my friend. She’s the last person I know of to see Lav. They were at the football game the weekend she disappeared.” Ron paused. “She also went on a date with Cormac.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “She knew both victims?”

“We all do,” Ron interjected quickly. “I’m dating Lavender and I’m on the football team with Cormac. We’ve all known each other since elementary school. It’s a small town, sir.”

Albus watched as Remus relaxed his shoulders. They had barely stiffened, just enough for Albus to notice.  _ Ah, if only it was so easy.  _

“So this Miss Granger, how do you know her?” Remus asked, his tone still friendly. 

“We've been best friends for years, her, myself, and Harry Potter. Cormac just decided he wanted to date her recently, probably because Harry likes Hermione and he wants everything Harry has, and asked her out.” Ron made a face. “Hermione made it pretty clear though that the date was awful. Apparently he’s an ass even to his dates.”

“He’s an asshole?” Remus clarified. 

Ron snorted. “As long as I’ve known him. He’s a pretty boy and I think it went to that big head.”

Albus kept writing quickly, taking note of everything said. They had at least two more people of interest to look into before the end of day, which was more than he had hoped for. Maybe these teens could be of use. 

“Well, thank you Mr. Weasley.” Remus shook his hand and guided the boy to the door. “We appreciate your time and all your help.”

“Will this help?” Ron asked eagerly. “Really help? I’m worried about her.” Even Albus could hear the vulnerability in the young man’s voice. It sounded so genuine. He might truly be just a boy hoping his girlfriend was alive and safe somewhere. 

Remus nodded and clapped the boy on the back. “I think the information you gave us will be essential to finding your girlfriend.”


	21. Chapter Twenty - Anxiety on High

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back folks! We are back with are villains again and knee deep in chaos. I hope you enjoy this chapter. Shout out to Zee for editing this even though I know you are absolutely buried in more college work than I’ve ever seen anyone do. 
> 
> Pleasant reminder that I don’t own HP, but JKR is also a monster so does it really matter?

_ Tick… Tick… Tick… _

Hermione had never been so impatient to leave class. She needed to get to Tom urgently. Lunch had ended right after she witnessed those men walk up to the school’s office. Tom had no idea. 

_ Tick… Tick… Tick… _

She considered asking for the bathroom pass and standing outside the window of Tom’s classroom until she caught his attention. That would be too obvious—too overt—they needed to stay subtle. He’d be furious with her. 

_ Tick… Tick… Tick… _

Her eyes stayed locked in the analog clock that hung on the front wall of class. It was so  _ loud.  _ Time was creeping by, crawling second by second as if to torture her. Hermione managed to rip her eyes off the clock only to stare out the classroom windows. She watched the sunset-colored trees move slowly in the window, prayed that if she didn’t watch the clock that maybe time would go faster for her. Mr. Flitwick’s talking reached her ears as a dull hum, none of the content making its way into her brain. 

Something disrupted the calm outdoor scene before her. Two people walking. At first her eyes didn’t focus on them, they stayed blurred as they slowly made their way along the sidewalk in front of the building across the grass lot. A brilliant clump of red hair was what caught her attention. Hermione shook her head and made her eyes focus on the walking figures. It was Miss Umbridge, the horrid office secretary, and Ron. He looked absolutely pale as Miss Umbridge led the way to where Hermione could only assume was the office. The office where those FBI-looking men were. 

All of the warmth in Hermione’s body rushes out of her, leaving her pale and cold. Were they going to question Ron? No, he was too close to it all, had too many ideas that were a bit too on the nose. Out of all the people they were to talk to, it had to be Ron fucking Weasley! Her pulse began to race, pulse pounding in her own eardrums so loud she swore they were going to burst. Hermione swallowed hard to only find her mouth full of saliva again. She was so nauseous that her mouth was pooling spit. 

_ NotRonnotRonnotRonnotRonnotRonnot— _

Hermione’s arm snapped straight up in the air. Mr. Flitwick was slightly startled, but he called on her nonetheless.

“May I use the restroom pass, please?” Her voice only came out slightly strained, which she was grateful for. No one around seemed to notice. All her peers were too wrapped up in their own worlds, trying not to fall asleep during another painful lecture on Stranger Danger. 

“Yes you may, Miss Granger.”

Standing didn’t feel right. Her eyesight darkened for a moment when she stood, but she kept moving forward by memory. No one could know anything was wrong. Hermione grabbed the women’s pass hung at the back of class and slipped out the heavy metal door without a sound.

Her walk to the bathroom was needed. She sucked in the cool, fresh air like it was a lifeline given solely to her. With each breath filling her lungs, the pounding pulse in her head lessened. By the time her hand was on the restroom door handle, its volume was just above average. 

The restroom was empty—she checked each stall. Setting the pass down, Hermione pulled her hair back and stared at herself in the mirror. She pulled the skin on her cheeks, stared at how pale she had become. 

“Everything will be alright,” she whispered to herself, a phrase that would become a mantra for her. She turned on the cool water and quickly splashed her face. Her goal was to shock the fear out of her body, to desperately gain control of her emotions again. 

After three splashes, Hermione turned off the water. She stared at the mirror, stared into her own eyes, and let out a long, slow breath.  _ They’ll never find Tom _ . 

—

They came for her during her next class. Hermione did her best to look surprised as the classroom door opened and Miss Umbridge stepped in. Her presence did nothing to stop Mr. Binns’ lecturing. The nasty woman had to clear her throat to get the old man to even look away from his notes. Miss Umbridge let out a too-high pitched giggle at her recognition and smiled. 

“I’m here for Miss Granger,” she announced. Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes and she packed up her things. It would’ve been much easier for Miss Umbridge to simply call from her desk in the front office. No, this nosy woman liked digging around in students’ businesses. She had walked Ron to question him and now she wanted to dig her nails into Hermione as well. 

Thankfully, that was just what Hermione needed. She sling her messenger bag over her shoulder and ducked her head as she followed Miss Umbridge out of the classroom.

“Nothing to worry, dear. Some men just have a few questions for you.” Miss Umbridge kept her tone light and airy, a pitch that felt like nails against a chalkboard to Hermione’s ears. Hermione simply nodded and kept her eyes down. She worried her lip and blinked a few times. 

“Oh no, are you—Miss Granger, it’s nothing to be afraid of! These officers are here to  _ help _ us. Unless you have something to hide?” There it was, the digging. 

“It’s not that,” Hermione states quietly. “I know what it’s about. They want to know about Cormac, don’t they?” On cue, Hermione looked up and into Miss Umbridge’s overly curious eyes. Her own honey eyes were tear-brimmed, worry and fear swirling together perfectly. The secretary held her eye contact for a long moment as she tried to read as much of Hermione’s expression as possible. 

“They probably do,” Miss Umbridge stated honestly as they continued to walk. “Is that going to be an issue?”

Hermione shook her head quickly and sniffled once. “No, no I can manage this. It’s just…” She let her words trail off as she stared ahead at the door they were approaching to the building. 

“It’s just what, child?” Miss Umbridge couldn’t hide the impatience and curiosity seeping into her voice. 

“He was just such a bad guy,” Hermione finally mumbled. They stopped as they stood outside the door and Hermione looked down at her shoes. “My mother taught me not to speak ill of others, especially in a situation such as this.” She didn’t have to look up to see Miss Umbridge’s intrigue; an audible sound of curiosity slipped out the old woman’s throat. 

“Just tell the nice men the truth to whatever questions they ask. It is important that you don’t tell lies, Miss Granger.” With that, Hermione was led into the office and to the room she assumed the men were in. Miss Umbridge knocked loudly twice before opening the door and announcing both of their presences. 

The moment Hermione stepped into the room, she noted the interrogation-like setup. One table, one chair on either side of it. She knew she had to keep her expression schooled, keep the worry and sadness clear in her eyes.

The next aspect of the room she processed wasn’t the younger man who stood to greet her, but the man sitting in the corner of the room. He was older—definitely older than her parents and maybe in his late 50s or early 60s. His hair was grey and white, pulled back in a low ponytail, and his face was framed with a neat beard. He wore older styled glasses, big frames he had seen her grandfather wear when she was little. Unlike the younger man who had stood, this man did not move for her. He stayed seated, a leather bound notebook open in his hand as if he had just stopped writing his thoughts down. His blue eyes observed her closely. She instantly felt naked, bare and vulnerable before his scrutinizing eyes.

Hermione quickly snapped her attention to the other man as he extended his hand out to her. She didn’t want to look at the older man any longer. Gracefully, she accepted the offer and shook hands with the man before her. 

“My name is Remus Lupin and I’m with the FBI. You may call me Agent Lupin.” His voice was smooth and calm like honey on a warm summer day. The moment words left his mouth, Hermione felt herself begin to relax. She knew that must’ve been his job; he was to help her feel safe so she would tell him everything she knew. “We asked you here so we could ask you a few questions.”

She nodded politely. “Of course.” Hermione set her bag on the floor and settled into the unoccupied seat. Agent Lupin watched from his spot as he waited for Miss Umbridge to see herself out. She looked displeased as she left—which Hermione only found amusing. Then the agent seated himself across from her and offered her a kind smile. 

“We talked to your friend Ronald Weasley earlier today,” was the opening line the agent chose. His warm demeanor did well at hiding his brilliance, but Hermione could see it peaking through. He had sharp, brown eyes that were assessing her from the moment she entered the room. They didn’t dart around, they moved in a smooth, calm motion that almost lulled her into a sense of safety. Hermione knew he was watching her closely, maybe closer than anyone ever had. 

“Oh,” she began. She blinked twice, her worry and fear still readily available. They were real emotions—she was terrified and worried out of her mind, but not for reasons they needed to know. “Is everything alright with him? He can’t be in any trouble; he’s just Ron.”

Agent Lupin shook his head. “No need to worry, your friend is just fine. He was just answering a few questions for us as well. We are here looking into the two missing students and he was dating one of them—“

“—is,” Hermione interrupted softly. “He  _ is _ dating one of them.” The agent looked confused so she continued. “He and Lavender are still dating. When you find her and bring her home, they’ll go back to dating.”

The discomfort in the agent’s face was blatant and she couldn’t tell if it was on purpose or not. “Right, excuse me.” He cleared his throat and scratched at the scruff on his chin. “When we spoke to him, he told us you know both victims as well. Is that correct?”

Hermione nodded and began to worry her lip. It was a habit she had had as a child and was easy to rely on as an act. “It is.” Her voice was quieter. “I didn’t know Cormac that well, but I’ve known Lavender for quite a while. We spent a lot of time together in middle school as well.”

“We are trying to recreate the timelines of both victims' last known whereabouts. Mr. Weasley told us you saw his girlfriend at the football game that was her last known location. Do you have any information on that night?” The agent leaned in, but only slightly. It was the shift of his shoulders, the incline of his jaw that gave away his suspicion of her knowledge. 

Once again, Hermione nodded. “I do,” she replied. “It was the weekend she disappeared. We didn’t have plans to meet up or anything, but Harry had invited me to watch him play and I knew Lavender would be there to watch Ron so I sought her out. I don’t really have a ton of other people at those things usually. I found her and spent most of the first half of the game with her.” Hermione averted her eyes in embarrassment and played with her fingers on the table. “Lavender, she umm...she wasn’t the biggest fan of me hanging out with her so around halftime she went to go get a drink from the snack bar. When she never returned, I just figured she ditched me.” She made a point to lower her voice even more. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Agent Lupin looked very interested when Hermione glanced up through her lashes. “Did you and Miss Brown not get along?”

“I got along with her for the most part,” Hermione told him. “Ron wanted me to try to get along with his girlfriend—said it would mean a lot to him. I was trying to spend more time with her, but I was never her favorite person to be around.” She hesitated. “I think it had something to do with me being so close to Ron, which is totally gross. He’s like a weird brother to me, but she wouldn’t listen.” She tried to shrug the idea off, shrug off all the real hurt she felt remembering how rude Lavender had always been. 

Least she wasn’t the one buried in the cold ground. 

“Did you ever see Ronald and Lavender get into any fights?” Agent Lupin asked. Hermione could hear the scratching of pen against paper from the agent in the corner. She hoped that her performance was enough. 

“No, I…” She paused again and shifted uncomfortably.

“You can tell us anything, Miss Granger,” Agent Lupin persisted. She could feel his eyes cataloguing her every movement. He was a professional and she was a sixteen-year-old girl. She felt like a fraud. 

“They just… They did fight some, but don’t all couples?” she asked innocently. “I thought I heard Lav talk about another guy once to one of her friends in the locker room, but I could've been wrong.” The last few words flew out of her mouth quickly. “There was just a lot of jealousy between them.”

Agent Lupin sent a look back to his partner and Hermione shoved down the victorious feeling she had in her. When the man turned back to her, she looked at him patiently and waited in silence. 

“We have some questions about your time with Mr. McLaggen as well,” the agent started. Hermione didn’t have to pretend to feel uncomfortable; she could feel the warmth flood out of her body at his name. 

_ —back slammed against a tree. Mean hands grabbing at her waist— _

_ “No one is going to see us out here—“ _

“Miss Granger?” Agent Lupin’s kind voice brought her back to reality. There really was no need to act. 

“Sorry,” she murmured. “What was the question?”

“When did you last see Mr. McLaggen?” He eyed her curiously, his intrigue in the open. There was caution laced in his voice. Of course he recognized that type of response in a woman. Fear at the mention of a name, spacing out, not wanting to discuss it…

“At a party the weekend he disappeared,” Hermione admitted. Her voice stayed quiet and weak. She threw in the occasional tremble and basked in the pitiful looks Agent Lupin sent her way. “It was supposed to be a date. I didn’t even want to go, but he kept finding me at lunch and asking me until I finally said yes.”

“You didn’t want to go to this party?” Agent Lupin clarified. It looked bad that she had been with both victims the weekend they disappeared, but if she hadn’t wanted to be out with Cormac, she could change the entire narrative she was in. 

Hermione shook her head. “Not really. I don’t party or drink. I’ve never even smoked. He just wouldn’t leave me alone so I agreed. He picked me up in that white truck they showed on the news and brought me to Lee Jordan’s house. He’s a junior. I was having an awful time and…” She let her words trail off as she let her eyes settle on the wall behind Remus.

_ “Cormac, let me go!” _

“He wanted me to have sex with him in the woods behind Lee’s house. I’ve never…” Hermione had hoped to blush, but no warmth came to her cheeks. No, her face felt cold, devoid of color as Cormac’s voice played in her head. 

_ “The thing is, no one is going to see us out here.”  _

“He wouldn’t listen to me,” she elaborated. “I had to shove him away and eventually I just ran. I know the streets really well having grown up here so I found the nearest street outside of the woods and I walked home.”

Hermione shook her head, trying to shake off all the gross that came with any thoughts of Cormac.  _ He was dead. He’s dead. He’s gone. _

“Did any of your family see you arrive that night?” She could hear the sympathy in the agent’s voice, as if he would’ve done something had he been there. No, they only had themselves. 

“My brother, Tom Riddle, was still awake when I got home. He saw me.” 

Agent Lupin shot a look back to his partner as the older man scribbled away. He must’ve noted down her brother’s name; her only witness. She wanted to know so badly what was in that journal, what notes that man was incessantly taking. The more he wrote, the more her anger built. She was furious they were even there, in their town. They didn’t meet any of the protocol she knew that was required for a FBI visit. Maybe her research wasn’t that reliable and she knew better than to ask an  _ actual agent _ , but it enraged her. 

“Well, Miss Granger, it looks like that’ll be all for today,” Agent Lupin states as he stood. He extended his hand out again and Hermione shook it. “We will reach out if we have any more questions for you.” He pulled a business card out of his wallet and held it out to her. “This is my number. Please, feel free to call if you think of anything pertaining to the case. Anything can help.”

Cautiously, Hermione took the card. She glanced it over. It was basic, white cardstock with  _ Agent Remus Lupin _ printed in bold across the top. Good, she could work with that. Name and positions she could use. 

“Thank you,” she replied politely. She put the card in her pocket to further study later and picked up her bag. “It was nice meeting you both.” Hermione nodded towards the agent in the corner, burying deep the frustration she had toward the man. 

“The pleasure was all ours,” Agent Lupin said as Hermione walked out the door. 

—

Hermione made it back to finish the last eight minutes of class before the dismissal bell rang. She darted right back out of class and to the school’s front gate, where she was to meet Tom before walking home. It took her brother ten minutes to find his way to her. He was chatting with some of their friends as he approached, a charming smile on his lips. 

“Hey, sis,” he said casually. “Some of us are going over to Lucius’s place to relax after a long day focused on grief and safety. He wanted me to extend the offer.”

Slowly, Hermione blinked as she processed his offer. “Hang out? Right now?” She shook her head quickly. “The office, umm, actually gave me a message from mom.” It was all she could do to contain her panic. “Would it be okay if I told it to you privately?” She stared at him with wide eyes, just hoping he would understand.

Tom looked confused, but he nodded. “Hey guys,” he told his friends. “How about I meet you all at Lucius’s, okay? I’ll see you there soon.” His friends hummed and grunted in agreement before slowly parting ways with them. 

“What’s going on?” He asked calmly and in a low voice. His dark eyes ran over her expression, trying his best to assess her.

Hermione shook her head. “I’ll tell you in the woods,” she murmured quietly before starting her walk out of the school gates. Tom quickly caught up with her, walking silently at her side. 

She led them away from the school, in the opposite direction from their woods. Instead, she took them to the nearest section of private woods she could get to. Little pockets of trees scattered their town, offering them all the privacy she was desperately seeking. Once they were far enough in, Hermione stopped walking and faced her brother. 

“The FBI is here.” Her words came out flat and empty. All the worry and fear she had been using to survive her interrogation came bubbling up through her chest and out as one sad sob. Hermione’s shoulders dropped as she looked to her older brother. 

Tom stood absolutely still. “What?” The world came out hard, the  _ t _ sound cutting. His firm word seemed to command a silence over the birds inhabiting the trees around them. 

“The FBI,” Hermione repeated slowly, defeat twisting through her words, “is here. They just spent sixth period questioning me and I know they spent fifth period with Ron  _ fucking _ Weasley!” 

Hermione didn’t get a chance to elaborate more as she watched her brother morph. Rage filled every facet of him, his dark eyes burning with something she hadn’t experienced before. Tom threw his messenger bag to the ground as if the strap and added weight was suffocating him. 

“Fuck!” he shouted so loud that birds cried out and flew out of their trees above. Tom kicked over the nearest large rock, broke out into a pace, wrapped his fingers in his own hair and pulled hard. “Fuck, fuck,  _ fuck _ !”

And just like that, the anger was gone. 

“Hermione.” His hands were on the sides of her face. Two thumbs wiped away tears she didn’t know she was shedding. Tom’s face was still red from the physical strain of his anger, but all emotional aspects of it had gone away. Hermione stared up into his dark eyes only to be met with a cool calmness; all his heated anger had been quickly locked away. 

“Hermione.” Her name was a murmur this time, a quiet prayer on his lips. “There’s no need to be so worried.” Tom shook his head and smiled down at her. All the remaining fear in her body slipped away as his voice washed over her. “No, we can handle them. We’ll need some time to plan, of course, and lots of prep. You probably won’t get much sleep tonight, but we will survive this.”

She searched her brother’s eyes and only found the truth in them. Hermione nodded. “Okay, Tom, okay.” She sucked in air. “I’ll tell you every bit of today and we can go from there.”

“Not yet,” he stopped her. “We still have appearances to keep up.”

It took a moment for it to click, but Hermione couldn’t silence the groan that left her. She didn’t want to go play pretend for hours, pretend to not be in love with her brother, pretend to not be hiding from the FBI. Watching teenage boys steal sips of their father’s whiskey meant nothing to her. 

“I already told Lucius we were coming over.” Tom shrugged an apology to her and only got a snort in return. “If we disappear in a panic over the FBI, that’ll only draw more attention to us. Everything will be alright. I’ll make sure of it.”

Hermione nodded slowly. She watched Tom pick up his messenger bag and dust it off. With interlocked hands, they walked slowly through the woods, enjoying their few moments of privacy before having to return to the real world, the world Hermione now found herself wanting no part in. 

“What if we just leave town?” she asked quietly, eyes focused straight ahead. “Stop killing until you graduate this year and then just leave. Anywhere else they won’t know we’re siblings. We won’t have to hide.”

“We have nothing to run from.” His words came out firm, final. “The FBI will leave, I’ll graduate high school and save up money for a few years until you graduate. Then we can leave town, leave them all behind and start over.”

“So...we can leave? Eventually?” He squeezed her hand tightly and Hermione smiled to herself. They would have to hide their killings forever, but they’d only have to hide their love for a few years. A few years and then they could be together, seen in the daylight. 

_ Daylight.  _

The end of the trees was upon them and their hands fell apart, both of them letting go at once. Hermione felt cold, even in her sweater. She needed his assurance. She had never been less sure of a situation. How could Tom possibly come up with a plan to get the FBI off their tracks? 


End file.
